Sugar Daddy
by Fearful Little Thing
Summary: AU Noah Puckerman never intended to set foot in Lima ever again, but when he's dragged back by his mother's funeral he catches sight of something that makes him reconsider. A beautiful teenage boy called Kurt, who's just begging for a sugardaddy...
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: This started out as a fill for this prompt at the kink meme (http: /community. livejournal. com / glee_kink_meme /1224. html?thread =2829768#t2829768). It fills most of the prompt requirements, but for some reason my muse decided to twist things a bit. All you really need to know is that the Puck-shaped space at McKinley has not been filled with someone else. Therefore Quinn was never pregnant. 

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* * *

.

Noah Puckerman hadn't set foot in Lima in years, and that was just fine with him. There was nothing in that town that held his interest, nothing he wanted to go back for... But obligations forced him. His mother's funeral wasn't exactly something he could miss, and it's not like he could just ask if they could please have the service in New York so he didn't have to go all the bloody way down to Lima just to say goodbye to his dead mother (who he hadn't spoken to in about ten years).

He made the plans to go to Lima, attend the funeral, and liquidate his mother's assets with the intention of making it as quick as possible before getting the hell out of there. Only his plans pretty much crumbled the first time he saw Kurt Hummel's pretty face.

Noah was stopped at an intersection near the high school when he saw the kid. All of sixteen with a face that made him look at least two years younger, pink lips, pale skin, blue eyes. Fucking gorgeous. And worse - the kid had obviously just been crying.

Noah just had this _thing_ about pretty boys (or girls) who cried. He saw a gorgeous young thing with tears in their eyes and he just wanted to whisk them away and make it all better. Preferably with champagne and sex in his penthouse apartment in New York. So he really couldn't be blamed (ok, he could) for rolling down his window and calling out; "Hey kid, need a lift?"

The boy turned, wide blue eyes suddenly looking right at him, and Noah felt his cock stir just from the blueness of those eyes. The kid bit his lip (fucking tease) and shook his head. "No... thanks."

"Lamborghini, Muira, 2008," Noah wheedled, and gave the kid his best charming grin. "Come on. I don't bite, and it's not as if I'm going to kidnap anyone in a car this expensive, right? I'd get fingered in half a second. Maybe less."

The light at the intersection changed and the car behind him beeped at him. Noah flipped the bird at the driver. He looked at the kid and offered one final seduction; "Live a little. What's it going to hurt?"

The kid looked at the backed-up and irate cars behind Noah's Lamborghini, then let out a shuddering breath and quickly hopped from the sidewalk and hurried around to the passenger side of the car. Noah barely waited for the kid to close the door after him before he sped off down the street.

"Where you headed?" He asked. "Where can I take you?"

They were two very different questions, and the boy seemed to realise that. He looked down at his knees, hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Kurt," the boy said, his voice soft. "Hummel. And... Home, I guess."

Noah snorted. "Fuck that. Boring."

"What?" Kurt looked startled, his blue eyes blinking rapidly, face flushing pink. "But..."

"Let's go shopping. I'll buy you icecream." Noah glanced at the kid again, noticed a recent stain on his sleeve that had all the marks of spilled soda. "I'll get you a new jacket. Vivienne Westwood, right? I'll buy you something from the new collection."

Kurt bit his lower lip again. He looked down at the stained sleeve of his jacket. "I don't even know you," he protested.

"I'm Noah Puckerman," Noah replied, taking a hand off the wheel to offer it to the kid. "And I'm bored as fuck and avoiding my family. I live in New York, I own Strut, Glamour, and Vive. Inherited the company they belong to a few years back when my dad's mother died. I'm in Lima for a funeral."

"Oh." Kurt's face was even more flushed than it had been before, his eyes wide. He took Noah's hand hesitantly and his hand was warm and soft, fingers delicate, nails neatly manicured. "I'm sorry, about the funeral."

"Don't be. She was a cold-hearted bitch. Anyway," he flashed a grin at Kurt. "Now you know me."

Kurt gave him a hesitant little smile. "So..." he said after a moment. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. And a half hour drive, so pick some music and make yourself comfy." Noah waited until Kurt was looking through his music collection before he asked; "So why were you crying?"

"What?" Kurt blinked, face flushing again. "I wasn't crying..."

"Yeah you were. It's why I offered you a ride. I can't stand it when I see someone beautiful crying."

"I..." Kurt shifted in his seat, cheeks bright red. His eyes were starting to fill with tears again, lashes clumping together from the moisture. "I had a particularly bad day at school," Kurt explained. "Normally I don't cry, but today it just got to me. I'm not sure why. Stupid."

"Tell me about it?" Noah took his eyes off the road to smile at Kurt. "Tell me about it and I'll buy you a pair of shoes to go with that new jacket..."

"You're bribing me to tell you about my crappy day?"

"I want you to smile," Noah corrected him, "if I'm going to spoil you 'til you're better I need to know how bad your day was first."

Kurt bit his lip (for the third fucking time, this kid was going to give him a hard on if he kept looking at those lips). "More like a bad year," he said. "Or a bad lifetime." And suddenly he was spilling his whole story, from the death of his mother to having no real friends at school to his father not connecting with him and the bullies that made his time at McKinley a living hell. "I'm sorry," Kurt finished with, "I don't even know why I told you all of that."

"Maybe you needed to," Noah suggested. "Anyway," he nodded ahead to the parking lot and slowed his speed, "we're here. So now I can buy you an icecream, then I'll spoil you fucking rotten."

By the time the shops in the mall began to close Noah was already loaded down with several bags full of new clothes and accessories for his smiling new blue-eyed boytoy. Kurt didn't know it yet, but Noah wasn't planning on the afternoon being a one off. He didn't just throw a couple of thousand dollars down and walk away. Kurt was gorgeous, smart, witty (when he wasn't upset) and he liked old fashioned butter-pecan icecream. No way in hell was he just walking away from that.

Kurt was much more talkative on the drive back. He told Noah all about his plans for the future, his love of music, and his passion for Broadway (even if he only got to see the bootleg videos online and not the real thing). He didn't seem concerned that his father would notice his bringing home a heap of shopping bags, and just shook his head when Noah asked if he'd get into trouble for staying out late.

Noah finally pulled the car to a stop outside the house Kurt pointed out as his home and unbuckled his seatbelt so he could look at the boy properly. Kurt looked back at him out of instinct, tilting his face up to look Noah in the eye. He gasped when the older man leaned down and kissed him but didn't pull away or protest. Noah raised a hand to cup the side of Kurt's face, stroking the boy's cheek with his thumb and coaxing his mouth open to make the kiss deeper.

"I was planning on leaving Lima again as soon as fucking possible," Noah said afterwards, looking into Kurt's half-lidded eyes. "Now... Do you want to see me again, Kurt? Can I take you out?"

"On a date?" Kurt asked, sounding just a little dazed.

"Dinner," Noah agreed, "a movie. Whatever you want."

"Ok..."

"Here. Here's my number," Noah dug in his wallet a moment and handed Kurt his card. It had both his mobile and office numbers. "And here... is my hotel number. Call me if something comes up, otherwise I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven."

"Ok," Kurt said again. He tucked Noah's card into his pocket and smiled. "I'll think about what I want to do tomorrow."

"You do that," Noah replied, and caught Kurt in another kiss. One kiss turned into two, and more, and by the time they finally broke apart Noah almost had his hand down Kurt's pants. He stopped, fingers still on the button at the top of Kurt's fly, when the boy pushed him away. "What? Too fast, baby?"

"Well, that yes," Kurt admitted. "And we're outside my house in a very attention-grabbing car."

Noah thought about that for a moment, and what being caught making out with a teenage boy could entail. He kissed the tip of Kurt's nose and moved away from him and back behind the wheel. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt."

The boy gathered up his shopping bags and got out of the car. He smiled at Noah before he shut the door. "'Bye."

Noah waited for the kid to disappear into the house before he floored the accelerator and roared off down the street. This kid was a keeper. Kurt had a lot of potential, even aside from being a cute little slice of virgin sex. Noah didn't plan on letting him walk away.

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* * *

.

"How old are you?" Kurt asked innocently. He looked dazzling, the height of male fashion in his new Westwood coat. Noah could name all of the designers that the boy's outfit comprised of, and he had to wonder if the kid didn't spend the entirety of his money on clothes to be able to dress that well. Or maybe he just spent a lot of time trawling eBay - a little more likely, considering the upper middle class house he lived in.

They were sitting in a private corner in a little bistro that had the dubious distinction of being the best they were going to find in town. Totally out of place given Kurt's beautiful jumble of designers and Noah's simple but elegant matte black tailored suit.

"Twenty-seven," Noah replied, easy and unrepentant as he sipped his glass of white wine. That was an eleven year age gap (actually closer to twelve) and he could care less.

"I recognised your name," Kurt admits, looking at him from under his lashes. They're long and dark, Noah would bet a straight hundred that he'd put on mascara. "Before. I knew the name Noah Puckerman, I'd read it before in magazines. I looked you up on google to make sure you were actually the right Mr. Puckerman and not an eccentric psychopath with a lot of money and a nice car."

"What makes you think I'm not anyway?" Noah asked, giving the boy a playful smirk.

"Then you're at least an eccentric psychopath who gives his real name."

Noah chuckled. "So," he said, "am I the right Mr. Puckerman?"

Kurt's cheeks flushed a little pink, either from excitement or embarrassment. "Yes. I looked up press release photos to make sure."

"So you know all about me, and after all that talking yesterday I know all about you." Noah fell silent for a moment as their waiter brought out their meals. Salad for Kurt, and a pasta dish for Noah. He'd gone for something lathered in sauce on purpose, so he could spend some time licking his lips or sucking his fork while making bedroom eyes at the boy across the table. Kurt would be desperate to go back with him to the hotel room whether he realised it now or not.

"Thankyou," Noah added to the waiter. He continued only when the waiter was gone and they were alone again. "So I'm going to cut to the chase. I'm attracted to you. You're fashionable, adorable, witty, and full of potential. I want to... what's the arts term?" He smirked. "I want to be your patron."

"My patron?" Kurt repeated. He looked shocked, a forkful of lettuce stopped halfway to his lips. "You want to be my financial backing?"

"When you move to New York," Noah explained, smiling, "you're going to need an agent, a place to live, a means of income while you make your way to stardom. And in the meantime I can give you things you'd never get here in Lima. You want a vocal coach? I'll get you one. Dance lessons? I'll hire the best fucking dance teachers I can find."

"What's the catch?" Kurt asked flatly, salad completely forgotten as he watched Noah twirl pasta onto his fork.

"This is the catch."

"Dating you is the catch?"

Noah nodded. He sucked pasta sauce from his fork, eyes locked on Kurt's face.

"You want to be my sugar-daddy?" Kurt translated, totally baffled. He searched Noah's face, obviously looking for signs of some kind of deception. It annoyed him, to think that Kurt was so beaten down in this shithole town that he didn't believe flat out honesty. "I... Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yes." Kurt nodded. And smiled. And flushed that pretty pink that Noah liked on him. "Be my sugar-daddy, Noah."

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* * *

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He'd predicted right. A short drive just for the hell of it after dinner and before they knew it Kurt was standing in the elevator with him, waiting for the fourth floor. At first glance the boy didn't look like he was too nervous, but Noah knew better. He could see the way Kurt had his hands twisted together so they didn't tremble. Noah smiled at the boy and placed his hand low on Kurt's back to guide him out of the elevator and down the hall.

"It's ok," he reminded the boy, "I don't bite, remember? And just because you're here -" he withdrew the key card from his pocket and swiped it through "- doesn't mean you have to do anything."

The hotel room was neat, but fairly dull compared to what Noah was used to when he travelled. Mr. Noah Puckerman was used to huge flat screen TVs, luxurious beds, and 24/7 room service. This hotel was nice, but utilitarian. He hadn't cared much, figuring he'd only be in town for a couple of days. He let Kurt step inside first and closed the door only after hanging the 'do not disturb' sign.

Kurt was standing by the window. Noah walked up behind him and dropped a kiss to the back of his neck. He smoothed his hands down Kurt's shoulders, taking the boy's jacket with him. Kurt turned, his face flushed, blue eyes bright. The boy raised his hands and hesitantly placed them on Noah's chest.

Together they started to undress, kissing as nimble fingers found shirt buttons and Kurt loosened the knot of his tie.

Noah opened the boy's shirt and slid a hand across his pale chest, watching the contrast of his olive skin against Kurt's whiter-than-white complexion. He pulled away only when he felt Kurt's hands pushing the shirt off his shoulders, and shook his arms out of his confining sleeves before placing his hands right back where they were before.

His fingers stopped exploring, paused to gently pinch the boy's rosy pink nipples. He bent down to soothe the pinches with his tongue, smirking to himself when he heard Kurt's soft gasp. He glanced down at the boy's groin, covered him with a hand and palmed the hardness he could feel underneath the layers of Kurt's clothing. The boy's hips pushed into his hand and he could tell the movement was nothing more than instinct from the deep red that rushed to his cheeks.

"Shh," Noah soothed, dropping seductive kisses to those pretty pink lips, "I'll take care of this, baby. This your first time?"

"I-I'm not ready," Kurt admitted softly, despite letting himself be pushed back onto the bed.

Noah's quick hands undid the boy's pants and peeled them down, he smiled reassuringly at the teen, fingers wrapping around his erection through the cotton of his underwear. Boxer-briefs, Noah smirked. A man after his own heart. "Ok," he purred, and bent down over the teen to press a sucking kiss just above the waistband of those briefs. "Think you're ready for a blowjob?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just hooked his fingers under the top of Kurt's underwear and pulled the cotton down. He listened with one ear for a no, or any indication that the boy didn't want this, the rest of his attention on the hard, young, mouth-watering cock he'd just revealed. He wanted that cock in his mouth, wanted to roll his tongue over the head and listen to Kurt's tiny murmurs of pleasure.

Noah was unfailingly hedonistic. He quickly undid his own pants and shoved a hand inside to touch himself while he sucked the head of the boy's cock into his mouth.

It was over fast, and Noah found himself amused and thoroughly aroused by the noise Kurt made as he climaxed. A soft, muffled whimper. Quiet like a mouse, Noah thought to himself, pulling away a little so he could look at the teen while he jerked himself to completion. He wondered what it would take to change that.

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* * *

.

The funeral was one big ball of boring. Noah got through the eulogy without any inappropriate comments to the people beside him only by spending the whole time playing games on his phone and sending a couple of dirty jokes to Kurt, who he knew would be in the middle of a class at school.

The funeral also marked Noah's last day in Lima. Or what was supposed to be his last day there. He had already contacted the hotel to extend his stay several days, and had emailed his PA back home to let everyone know that he'd be away for at least another week. When he received the slightly snarky reply asking him what he planned to do in this (quote) boring dump of a shithole town (unquote), Noah didn't even dignify it with a response. His PA was pretty good about the barely legal girls. He didn't know how the man would feel about Noah taking up with a sixteen year old boy.

Noah spent only as much time at the wake as he had to before getting the hell out of there. He drove to McKinley and parked his car outside. His watch read 3:40 and the parking lot was still full, so he sat back to wait. Five minutes later and students started pouring out of the school. Noah kept an eye out for Kurt and leaned on the horn when he saw the boy. Kurt's face flushed and he changed course, turning towards the distinctive sports car and dodging small groups of students until he could jump into the passenger seat.

Hidden by the car's tinted windows, Noah leaned over to greet Kurt with a kiss. The teen's lips tasted like cherry flavoured chapstick. Noah licked his lips afterwards, tasting the lingering cherry sweetness as Kurt buckled his seatbelt and leaned back against the leather seat as if he'd been getting rides from Noah for years.

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* * *

.

When he left town a week later he still had the taste of Kurt's lipgloss on his lips. He'd taken the teen out to a movie before saying his temporary goodbyes and they'd kissed under the projector in the back row. Noah had dropped Kurt back home but stopped the boy from getting out of the car until he'd handed over a brand new phone with his numbers (home, mobile, office, and pager) already programmed in.

"Call me whenever you want, Kurt," Noah had told him. "If I can't answer I'll hit you back as soon as I can."

"Ok," Kurt had agreed. He'd tucked the phone away and given Noah one last kiss before he'd hurried out of the car and to the house.

He had to have figured out by now that the contract was in Noah's name and the bills being paid through his account. Noah had wanted to leave him with a reminder that this wasn't just a wild fling. He was Kurt's patron – his sugar-daddy – now. And he planned on looking after his boy even when he wasn't physically there.

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* * *

.

Noah stood in front of the doors that led out to the balcony, a rum and coke in one hand, the other holding his mobile up to his ear. New York was beautiful at this time of night, when it was nothing but lights and silhouettes. Noah's penthouse was comfortable, the carpet plush and not his responsibility to clean. He was barefoot, his shirt open at the throat and rolled up at the sleeves, looking out at the skyline as he listening to his boy talk.

"... have no idea how much I wish those cretins would just choke and die," Kurt said, and Noah could clearly picture the pursed lips and narrowed eyes that would accompany his tone. "There are only so many times I can assure myself that one day it will be my boots they'll be licking before getting tossed into a dumpster becomes unbearable. And it is no consolation that they let me take my jacket off first."

"You're better than they are," Noah replied, and sipped his drink. "Listen, I'll be in town again this weekend, you want me to have a word with them?"

"Will your words involve slashing their tyres or smashing their snivelling faces in?" Kurt asked, and Noah loved the way he said it. That tone was one that wouldn't be out of place in the top offices of the magazines Noah's company owned. He wondered whether he shouldn't bully one of them into giving Kurt a summer internship, which would double as an excuse to fly Kurt up to New York.

"Better." Noah smirked. "I can put their parents out of work."

Kurt was silent, clearly thinking about it. Then he sighed. "No... No, I'm better than that. I refuse to sink to their level." He paused, then added in a different tone; "My birthday is coming soon. I know my father will get me something terribly masculine, he always does... I'll be sixteen."

"Sixteen?" Noah repeated, eyebrows raised. Suddenly it seemed like an even better idea than before not to tell anyone about the reason he was so interested in his hometown again. He'd figured Kurt for sixteen already. "When is it? I want to surprise you."

"Friday," Kurt replied. "And you're a truly wicked man, Mr. Puckerman. You know I can't stand surprises."

Noah smirked but didn't call him out on the lie. Kurt loved surprises. He just hated waiting for them when he knew they were coming. "I have to go, baby," he said reluctantly. "I've got this shitty meeting tomorrow morning, and you should already be in bed."

"I am in bed," Kurt replied sweetly, and even though he sounded confident Noah just knew he'd be blushing. "I'm wearing the pyjamas you got me."

"The ones with the monogram?"

"Mm-hm. The blue-grey silk you said goes with my eyes."

"Yeah. You look hot in those." Noah downed the last of his rum and coke and turned away from the window to take the empty glass back to the kitchen. "Still, much as I'd love to keep you on the line so I can hear your voice while I jerk off... You want to get your beauty sleep, Kurt. Remember, I'll be in Lima on Saturday and I promise I'll keep you up all night."

"I suppose," Kurt sighed.

"I'll see you Saturday, baby."

"Goodnight Noah."

Noah disconnected the call and laid his phone down on the kitchen counter next to his empty glass before padding silently through the apartment to the bedroom. If anyone wanted to call him between now and the morning they could use his home line (and risk getting yelled at) or they could leave it the hell alone until a decent hour. Noah needed to think about what he was going to get for Kurt's sweet sixteen.

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* * *

.

"Where's the Lamborghini?" was the first thing Kurt asked on Saturday when Noah came by his house to pick him up.

Noah could tell from a glance up the driveway at the garage that Kurt's father wasn't home, most likely working the morning at his auto shop. Instead of the Lamborghini, Noah stood beside a black 2010 Lincoln Navigator. The tinted windows were currently blocking it from Kurt's view, but there was a bright red ribbon tied in a bow around the gearstick.

Noah smiled at the boy and produced the key from his pocket. "Happy birthday," he said, and watched Kurt's face as his expression turned from outright shock to the brightest grin he'd ever seen.

"Oh my God! You got me a car!"

"I got you a fucking awesome car," Noah corrected him. He handed over the car key and watched Kurt dash around to the driver's side. "It has a few miles on it," he explained, "I had to drive it from the dealership."

"That's ok," Kurt assured him, already behind the wheel. He turned his big blue eyes to Noah and grinned excitedly. "Can we take it for a drive, right now?"

Noah hopped into the passenger side and leaned back against the seat. "Insurance is taken care of," he told Kurt, listening to the purr of the engine when the teen turned the key. "It's registered in your name, so you don't have to worry about any legal bullshit if you get pulled over. And if you do get pulled over..." Noah flashed the teen a grin, "you send me the bill."

Kurt nodded, clearly still in awe of the fact that he now owned a car. And even better, a sexy badass of a car. He proved to be a good driver, and Noah spent most of his time in the passenger seat watching the teen rather than the scenery. It occurred to him that he should buy Kurt a pair of driving gloves and a matching scarf. That would make him look even more like a sexy little bitch than he did now.

The drive was long, scenic, and wholly enjoyable. Noah eventually directed Kurt to pull over and coaxed him into the back seat where he pulled the boy onto his lap and kissed him until his lips were red and tasted nothing like strawberries.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Noah asked, his arms looped loosely around the boy's waist. Kurt's head was tucked against his shoulder, breath tickling Noah's neck, and his hands were pressed flat against the older man's chest.

"Anything you want for your sweet sixteen."

Kurt was quiet for a minute as he thought about it, idly playing with the lapels of Noah's jacket. Finally he pulled away enough to look Noah in the eye. "Can we go somewhere you can listen to me sing?" he asked, cheeks flushed a light pink. "I'd like you to hear me sing."

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* * *

.

"I auditioned for the school's glee club," Kurt told him, breathless at four in the afternoon while Noah was on one of his _'get the fuck out of the office before I kill someone'_ breaks. "It's called New Directions and the director teaches Spanish."

Noah stood in line at the Starbucks down the road from his office. "If you didn't get it in I'll eat my cat."

"You don't have a cat," Kurt pointed out, but Noah could hear the smile. "But yes, I obviously got in. I sang Mr. Cellophane, from Chicago."

"I bet you nailed every note, baby. I love hearing you sing. Cappuccino," he told the girl behind the counter, "tall, double-shot, no sugar."

Several hours away, sitting in the front seat of his Navigator, Kurt's lips twisted into a crooked smile. He liked the way Noah's voice changed when he spoke to whoever it was taking his coffee order. The difference between doting boyfriend and 'give me my fucking coffee, peon' was as if he were two completely different people. "Go easy on the plebeians, Noah," Kurt told him, "they're just doing their job."

"I tipped a twenty," Noah replied, "I don't think she gives a fuck. Anyway, about this New Directions thing..."

"There are only five of us right now," Kurt explained, reaching up to tuck the sun-visor down and flip the cover on the vanity mirror up. "Frankly I was amazed that there are that many passable singers in the school." He paused to uncap his shiny new clear lipgloss and apply it to his lips. During his pause he heard Noah say a muffled "oh thank fuck" and guessed that meant his coffee was ready. Kurt pressed his lips together, capped the lipgloss again, and flicked the cover down again. "Actually, I was surprised that Mr. Schue is such a good singer."

"Schue?" Noah asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice. "As in Schuester?"

"Mm-hm. First name William." Kurt had looked it up. He knew all of his teacher's first names through sheer perverse curiosity. He'd also looked most of the locals up in the old yearbooks in the library. He'd looked up Noah in the yearbooks too, and had been a little surprised that Noah had been voted 'most likely to get arrested'... until he remembered that the man was dating him, a sixteen year old boy. So perhaps it had been more accurate than most would guess.

Noah laughed, and the rich sound thrummed pleasantly through Kurt's body. "Fuck," he said. "I went to school with him. So he teaches Spanish now, and coaches glee?"

"Badly," Kurt said airily. He thought better of the comment a moment later and conceded; "But it's not as if he has a lot to work with."

"Is it fun?"

"Yes," Kurt replied, reluctant to admit that something so honestly geeky was actually enjoyable even despite Rachel's melodramatics and the fact that the group had yet to find a song they were actually good at.

"Then stick with it. Will Schuester is an obsessive, manipulative little hardass. He'll make it work." There was a short pause, then Noah sighed. "I have to get back to the office, Kurt. I'll give you a call when I get home."

"I miss you," Kurt said, idly running his hand over the Navigator's wheel. "I wish you could make it back to Lima more often."

"Me too, baby. I'm hoping to make it down next week, so just hold out til then. I'll talk to you later."

"'Bye," Kurt sighed and tucked his phone away. He started the drive back home so he could be there before his dad got home from work. Burt Hummel hadn't said a word about the sudden appearance of the Navigator, just like he hadn't said a word about Kurt's steadily improving wardrobe or the new phone. He'd stopped asking Kurt questions a long time ago.

Kurt had nothing in common with his father except blood and their shared last name. He often felt like it was awkward just to live under the same roof in the same house, and relished the fact that Burt had let him take the basement as his own.

He parked the Navigator in the driveway and retrieved his messenger bag from the passenger seat. Kurt felt so out of place here, walking up to the front door of his house wearing Westwood paired with Marc Jacobs and Hugo Boss. It wasn't until he was standing in the grey haven of his basement room that he felt at ease.

Kurt emptied the contents of his bag one by one and set his phone close to hand at his desk. He couldn't wait until it rang again and he could hear Noah's voice purring into his ear. Noah Puckerman was rich, well known, and had excellent taste in everything from fashion to food. He exemplified everything Kurt wanted from life, and everything he wanted to be.

Life would be a lot easier if he just lived in the same town.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about Mercedes, Kurt decided, was that she was both talented and original and didn't try to hide it. She was unapologetic, and he liked that because he was also unapologetic. (She was also clearly more evolved than most of the teenagers wandering around the halls of McKinley High.) She, he thought, would make a good friend. The only problem was that he had no clue how to actually make friends.

"I'd like a fag hag," he told Noah over the phone. "Someone to go shopping with me when you're not around."

"Someone who knows her Hermes from her Prada?" Noah suggested, a smirk in his voice.

"Knowledge of designers is purely optional," Kurt replied determinedly, "that can be taught. Talent and intelligence can not."

"So just talk to her, Kurt. Break out that platinum card I gave you and take her on a spree. Bond over mochas."

"What if she says no?"

"Baby, nobody in their right mind says no to you."

So when opportunity presented itself in the form of a single girl's couple-envy Kurt leaped at the opportunity. He found himself lying automatically when she asked him if he'd ever kissed anybody, used to the idea of keeping his relationship with Noah a secret, and quickly passed on to a much better idea. Shopping.

They bonded over accessories, not mochas, and a shared dislike of Rachel's melodrama and constant monopolising of solos. Several trips to the mall later, plus a few afternoons spent watching old musicals in Kurt's basement room or discussing music at lunch during school, and Kurt figured he'd successfully made a friend.

The only issue with so much close contact was that Mercedes started noticing when Kurt received mysterious texts in the middle of the afternoon, or had to hang up in the middle of a conversation to take another call. They spent so much time together that when Kurt begged off hanging out over the weekend with the weak excuse of 'dance class' Mercedes called him out on it by showing up on the doorstep on Saturday morning.

Kurt was half way through packing for a night away from home when she showed up at the top of the basement stairs.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked, surprised and still holding the folded-up silk pyjamas that he'd been about to tuck into his overnight bag.

"Your dad let me in," Mercedes explained as she walked down the steps. "I came over to see what was such a big secret that you can't tell me about."

"It's not a secret," Kurt protested, even though it was. He tucked the pyjamas away into his bag and then added the soft, padded case that he kept his makeup and moisturiser in. "I have to go soon or I'm going to be late."

"Go where?" Mercedes asked, crossing her arms.

Kurt closed his overnight bag and turned to look for his messenger bag, which was already packed with all of his usual gear. He couldn't see it on his desk or vanity, and when he turned around again Mercedes was holding the bag, one eyebrow arched. Kurt knew her well enough by now to know that she wasn't above holding his bag ransom for an answer. "The Hampton Inn," he said finally.

"Why?" Mercedes prompted, holding up his bag.

"I'm meeting someone."

"The same someone you keep texting in class and blowing me off on the phone for?"

Kurt nodded stiffly. "Yes."

"And you're staying the night?"

"Yes."

"And your dad doesn't care?"

"This isn't the first time I've done this," Kurt explained, nervously checking the time. Noah's flight would have gotten in to Lima Airport an hour ago, which was plenty of time for him to collect baggage and go through security. He'd probably be in a rental car by now, on his way to the hotel. "As long as I don't get in trouble and I'm back home in time to go to school on Monday he doesn't say anything."

"How often do you do this?" Mercedes asked, and it was clear that Kurt's answers had just opened up more questions for her. "Who are you going to see? Who do you talk to on the phone all the time?"

Kurt bit his bottom lip, then regretted it when he realised he'd have to reapply his lipgloss. He thought about lying to Mercedes, but he valued her friendship too much to risk losing it now. "I... My boyfriend," he said quietly. "I'm going to see my boyfriend. He lives in New York, so we don't get to see each other very often, but he flies down whenever he can. Once a week if I'm lucky."

"Once a week," Mercedes repeated, both eyebrows raised now. She didn't seem surprised to hear the word 'boyfriend', it was the other details she was having trouble with. "You have a boyfriend who lives in New York who flies down _once a week_ and stays at the only three star hotel in the whole of Lima?"

Defeated, and sensing that he wasn't going to be getting his bag back any time soon, Kurt sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Yes. He's sort of my sugar-daddy," Kurt admitted, and flashed her a sheepish little smile.

Mercedes crossed the room and sat herself down on the other side of Kurt's bed, one leg tucked up underneath her. "You have to tell me everything," she demanded, and pulled Kurt's messenger bag into her lap, "or you're not getting this back. Ok, I'll start you off. He's older, and he's gotta be rich... What's lover-boy's name?"

Kurt flushed. "Noah Puckerman."

Mercedes stared at him. "Boy, tell me you're joking."

Kurt shook his head. "I'm not."

"Noah Puckerman. _The_ Noah Puckerman? As in owner of the most successful trio of fashion magazines since Vogue?" Mercedes was outright gaping at him. "He's like twenty years older than us!"

"Eleven," Kurt corrected her, "he's twenty-seven. Mercedes, please. You can't tell anyone." He bit his lip again and glanced at the basement door just to make sure that it was closed. "Not anyone," he stressed. "Noah could get into a lot of trouble and..."

"And?"

"And I... I'm in love with him."

Mercedes was silent for a moment. She handed over Kurt's bag and shook her head. "Boy, you are fixing for a heartbreak. I won't tell anyone, for now. But when you get your heart broken over this I'm going to be right here saying 'I told you so'."

Kurt sighed in relief. He threw the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, grabbed his overnight bag and jumped off the bed. He paused to hug his friend. "Thank you, Mercedes. I have to go," he added as he pulled away from her and hurried up the steps, "I'm going to be late!"

Kurt would admit to speeding a little on the way to the hotel, but he felt justified when he arrived and could see a black Porsche already parked in the lot's VIP space. The Porsche was a little tame compared to Noah's usual taste in cars, but Kurt could see the rental tag in the back window and couldn't imagine who else it would belong to. He entered the hotel lobby and went up to the front desk. The woman behind the counter gave him an odd look when he said "I'm here to see Noah Puckerman" but smiled politely enough when she told him to please wait while she called the room.

She picked up the phone on the desk and punched in a few numbers. Kurt half suspected that she was just humouring him, but then she heard the muffled sound of a voice answering the phone. "Mr. Puckerman?" The woman said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a young man at the front desk who -" She was cut off by a few words on the other end of the line. "Of course," she said after a moment, "I will. Thank you for your time." The woman hung up the phone and turned back to Kurt. "Mr. Puckerman is on the top floor in room 317. He says you should go right up."

"Thank you," Kurt nodded politely and breezed past the reception desk to the elevators.

Less than a minute later he was standing outside room 317 on the third floor. He knocked on the door and stepped back.

He had to wait in the hall only three seconds before Noah flung open the door and grinned at him. "Baby, I missed you," Noah purred and leaned down to press a kiss to Kurt's lips in full view of anyone who might choose to walk past.

Kurt kissed back and slid his arms around Noah's neck as he tasted bitter coffee and the tiniest hint of mint. They didn't part until Noah had pulled him into the room. Kurt only let him away long enough to shut the door before he pulled the man back to him, eagerly seeking more of Noah's intoxicating kisses.

He let himself be walked back to the bed and dropped his messenger bag down beside it, his other bag already forgotten by the door. Arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight against Noah's hard, muscular body. God, Kurt loved Noah's body. He started undoing the buttons of Noah's shirt, impatient to see more of the man's smooth, olive skin. He had the shirt almost completely unbuttoned when he was distracted by large hands pushing the jacket from his shoulders.

Kurt let Noah undress him, knowing that his face was flushed and his hair mussed and not caring about that at all. He let the man strip him naked and push him down onto the neatly made double bed. He arched and writhed under Noah's clever hands and hot, wet mouth. He didn't notice that Noah must have stripped down at some point until the man's naked body was suddenly covering his own - skin to skin, burning hotter than hot. Kurt whimpered and pressed his face against Noah's neck when one large hand coaxed his leg up and to the side so the man could grind up against him from a different angle.

Kurt came with a whimper, slicking his and Noah's stomachs with more than sweat. He kept pushing his hips up to meet Noah's rolling downward thrusts, eagerly meeting his lips for messy, uncoordinated kisses. He knew when Noah was close from the way his body tensed, and just a few seconds later Kurt was watching the look on his face when he groaned.

_'I did that'_, he thought, feeling smug and sated.

Noah kissed him one more time, then rolled off him and onto his side on the bed. Kurt still felt kind of shy being naked around him, but the way Noah looked at him sort of made up for it.

"You have no fucking idea how much I've been wanting to do that," Noah told him. "I love hearing your voice on the phone when I jerk off, but it's not the same. I want to be able to touch you like this..." He reached out and trailed a hand through the mess of sweat and semen that stained Kurt's pale skin. "All the time. I want to see your face when you come. I want to kiss you. I want to watch you suck my cock."

Kurt could feel his face flushing bright red, but he couldn't deny the thrum of arousal that swept through his body listening to Noah talk. "I want to," he admitted shyly, his eyes trailing slowly down Noah's naked body. "I think about it..."

He looked up again to see Noah smirking. "How about we stay in today, baby? We'll take a bath together, watch something on cable, mess around on the bed..."

Kurt couldn't see anything wrong with that idea.

.

* * *

.

As it turned out, Kurt never actually wound up using the pyjamas he'd packed. He wore them for about fifteen minutes in the evening after his skincare routine before Noah stripped him down again and pulled him close. Before he knew it Kurt was spreadeagled on the bed with two of Noah's fingers inside of him. He used his mouth to get Noah off for the first time, following the instructions that Noah panted out breathily.

Afterwards, curled against Noah's chest under the blankets on the stiff hotel bed, Kurt felt tired and content. He almost missed it when Noah informed him; "I'm thinking about buying a house here in Lima."

"What?" Kurt asked, pulling back a little so he could blink up into Noah's hazel eyes and try to gauge if the man was actually serious. "You want to buy a house here?"

"It makes sense," Noah said with a shrug, though Kurt didn't see it that way. "I'm sick of staying in hotels," he explained. "I'm down here practically every weekend. Why not get myself a summer home... in fucking Lima."

Kurt bit his lip. He spread his palm flat against Noah's chest, right over the man's heart. "Does it mean I'd get to see you more often? Given that a house is much more desirable accommodation than a three star hotel."

"A house means longer stays. And fucking conference calls and my PA bitching at me from the office."

"But you could stay longer."

"As long as it's your place too. You get a key," Noah told him with a smirk. "So you can show up any time you want whether I'm there or not."

"When will you start looking?" Kurt asked, the idea of Noah buying a house in Lima even more appealing than it had been before. He couldn't help but imagine what the house might look like on the inside, a classy interior design in colours that matched, original paintings on the walls. It would feel like a haven. He loved it already.

.

* * *

.

Barely a week later he received a key in the mail from a very flustered courier. Kurt was confused until his phone buzzed and he read the text from Noah telling him the address of their brand new, shiny, unfurnished house. _'rushing escrow for an extra ten thousand'_ the text read '_fucking greedy cows. ours on monday. decorate how you want_.'

Kurt actually squealed.

.

* * *

.

He took Mercedes with him to view the house as a concession for having sworn her to silence. It was a four bedroom, two bathroom affair that boasted polished wood floors and a kitchen that was all black marble and stainless steel. If Mercedes hadn't believed that Kurt was involved with Puckerman before, she certainly believed it now.

"I'm thinking ultramodern," Kurt said as he stood in the middle of the empty living room, imagining what would go where. "In blacks and beige."

"I'm thinking you're the luckiest boy I have ever met," Mercedes replied, potentially revaluating her initial belief that Kurt was headed for nothing but heartbreak. Someone who was in it just for a quick bump'n'grind with a slice on the side usually didn't buy an entire freaking house for them.

Kurt grinned at her. "I know. I am, aren't I?" He dug in his bag for a moment and whipped out the platinum card Noah had given him. "Let's go furniture shopping."

.

* * *

.

Noah was there on Monday when the house officially became his, and when Kurt had arranged for his furniture choices to be delivered. He stood in the kitchen, a bottle of rum in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. After a moment he thought better of it and tossed the cup, knocked back a shot straight from the bottle, and placed the rum on the counter.

"Cheers," he said to himself, and smirked.

He approved every single choice Kurt had made when it came to outfitting the house with the bare basics of a design. He could see the potential in the few pieces, and resolved to contact his bank for a higher spending limit on Kurt's card before he left Lima again.

Kurt was glowing, in the middle of his element as he directed the delivery men on where to send the furniture. He looked like an unholy cross between stuck up billionaire housewife and ruthless executive, and Noah thought it was nothing short of adorable. It proved too much of a feat to wait until the delivery men had gone, so Noah said a quiet 'fuck it' and just kissed the boy full on the mouth anyway.

"Want to go shopping for home wares?" Noah asked the teen, thinking about kitchen appliances and matching silverware.

Kurt, who loved anything to do with shopping and visual aesthetics, beamed at him.

.

* * *

.

"... it's clear favouritism," Kurt complained, taking a glass of sparkling mineral water from the kitchen to the downstairs living room where Evita was playing, muted, on the widescreen. He sat down and swapped the phone to his other hand.

"Rachel gets all the solos without even needing to try, which is perfectly fine for almost everybody else because they manage to snare decent solo time of their own. But me? I'm in the chorus, forever in the background, and shot down the one time I actually ask outright for a chance to sing the song. Because it's not 'accessible' enough."

"Schuester is a douche," Noah replied. "Fuck accessible. I don't know about this Rachel chick, but you have a voice to die for."

Kurt sighed. He wished that Noah was on the couch beside him instead of somewhere in his apartment in New York. It felt good to vent to him over the phone, but it felt better when the purr of the older man's voice was right by his ear. "In any case," Kurt said, his eyes on the muted Madonna as she cooed Evita's last goodbye, "it's all academic. Mr. Schue has made up his mind."

"This is where his being a hardass gets in the way. Alright, baby... When do the rehearsals for this new song start?"

"Thursday," Kurt replied, frowning a little as he thought about Rachel belting out his number. "I may just decide to be sick that day."

"Don't do that. Listen, Kurt. I'll take the day off tomorrow and come down to talk to Schuester myself."

Flustered, Kurt nearly dropped his water on the couch. "What? No. Noah, you don't have to do that."

"You want to sing the song, right? You'll sing the fucking song or I'll punch Schuester in the face."

"Noah... I appreciate your enthusiasm, but -"

"But nothing," Noah interrupted him. "I'll take you out to dinner while I'm there. You'll just have to owe me one."

Kurt couldn't argue with Noah when he was in one of his stubborn moods, and he didn't really want to. The idea of getting the chance to sing his favourite song was far too tempting to flirt with false modesty. He liked the idea of Noah getting Will to back down off his high horse. "And how can I repay you?"

"Shoot my PA?"

Kurt was startled into laughter at the suggestion, having expected something completely different, something more serious. Possibly sexual.

"Seriously," Noah chuckled. "I'll think of something, baby. Don't you worry." There was a lull in the conversation before Noah spoke again. "You staying at our place tonight?"

"Mm-hm," Kurt replied. He bit his lip, watched the credits roll, and added; "I'm not even sure my dad notices that I'm gone half the time. I practically live here and he hasn't said a word."

"Do you want him to?"

"No... But it would be nice if I thought he cared."

.

* * *

.

Will Schuester liked to think that he was a pretty perceptive guy. He might be a little manipulative sometimes, but you had to be if you wanted to avoid the issues that came from other people's manipulations. Will was also the kind of guy who liked to encourage his students to be the best they could be, to open their wings and not be afraid of what other people had to say about it. He liked to be inspiring. He liked to imagine that he was helping give his students the kind of experience in high school that he'd had.

He didn't like to be reminded of the few times he'd had his head shoved into a cistern or water balloons thrown across the ground with careful precision only to burst right against his crotch, delivering the double-whammy of pain and humiliation.

The man currently standing in the doorway, casually blocking Will's exit from the class room reminded him of those times. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, olive-skinned, and screamed confidence. He wore a suit that looked like it had been made for him, which struck Will as being really out of place.

"Will," the man said, and his voice had hardly changed since high school, "we need to talk."

"Puck?" Will asked, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He'd been sure Puck had moved out of Lima sometime after graduation. "What are you doing here?"

"Back into the classroom, Schuester," Puck said, and suddenly it was almost like Will was a student again, being backed into a corner by a bully. "We're not having this conversation out in the hall."

"I don't know if you've realised this, but lunch is going to be over in a few minutes," Will said, reminding himself that high school was almost ten years ago and that he, not Puck, was the one in authority here. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave before my next class gets here."

"Your next class can sit and spin. I already wasted enough time looking for you in the staff room. Kurt Hummel," Puck said bluntly. "You're going to give him a shot at that solo."

"What?" Will wasn't entirely sure he'd heard right. He gave the other man an odd look. "You came here to talk about my glee kids?"

"Just the one, Schuester. Kurt. The kid with the girly voice. The kid you knocked back."

"Is this about Defying Gravity? That issue is resolved. Rachel sings the lead this time, and I promised to find an appropriate song for Kurt."

"You mean you gave the part to your underage girlfriend."

"Now just a second," Will started, disturbed by the taunt. He knew it was just an insult, a throwaway line that Puck was using to bait him, but he couldn't let Puck get away with just walking all over him. "There is nothing inappropriate going on between me and any of my students. Rachel is a good singer, the choir's female lead, and -"

"No." Puck held up a hand. "Don't give me some stars-in-your-eyes, everybody believe in themselves bullshit. I don't want to hear it."

"Puck -"

"You're going to let Kurt try out for the lead in that song, or so help me I'll drag you to the boys room right fucking now and give you the swirlie of your life."

Will looked at the other man and the stubborn set of his shoulders. He had no doubts that Puck would actually try it, and only minimal conviction that he wouldn't succeed. "You want me to let Kurt audition for the solo?"

"I want you to give the kid a chance."

Will stopped and thought about it, and not just out of a reluctance to revisit his less pleasant high school experiences. He thought about his own preconceptions, about what he was trying to teach his kids with their wheelchair experiment. He sighed.

Puck must have sensed his defeat because he nodded. "I'll be watching, Schuester."

Puck turned around and left the classroom. Will watched him go, suddenly aware of the milling crowd of students clustered outside the door. He waved them inside, starting to think about how exactly he could pitch the idea of a tryout without Rachel throwing a fit.

.

* * *

.

Kurt was a little surprised to see the silver Porsche in the school's parking lot at lunch. He knew Noah had taken to renting the Porsche while he was in Lima, mainly to cut down on the mileage being eaten up by the Lamborghini and to enable Noah to take a plane instead of spending five hours behind the wheel just for a weekend away. Still, Kurt reasoned, Noah had said he would talk to Will for him and he couldn't do that without actually showing up at the school.

He put it from his mind and enjoyed the rest of his break between classes. If he started thinking about seeing Noah later on he'd only lose focus in class and possibly make a fool of himself if he was caught daydreaming.

He was so determined not to think about it that he completely forgot that Noah would have spoken to Mr. Schuester.

It all came back in a rush the instant he sat down in the choir room and Mr. Schue announced that instead of automatically giving Rachel the part like he'd said, he was going to let Kurt try out for it as well and have the rest of the choir vote on who was the better singer for the part.

Kurt was ecstatic. He was even feeling gracious enough to announce that the rest of the club had to promise to vote for the better singer, and not just the person they liked more (which was him). Even having said that he was pretty sure he'd wind up with the lead.

He even let Rachel go first.

It was maybe only partly because he wanted to watch her face when he totally destroyed her through song. The look on Will's face was strangely similar. Kurt took a breath, held it, and let it go only when all ten hands raised for him.

.

* * *

.

"What made you change your mind?" Kurt asked, a little dryly, when the rest of the choir had already filed out of the room. It was just him and Mr. Schuester left, and the room seemed much larger without the rest of the glee kids. Quieter, Kurt reflected, more serious. As befitted his question.

"Puck came to speak to me," Will said. He corrected himself a moment later at Kurt's puzzled look. "Noah Puckerman. We used to call him 'Puck' in high school. I didn't know you two were friends."

"Yes," Kurt said, watching Will's face closely for any sign that he thought Noah's involvement unusual. "We've known each other for a while now."

Will smiled at him. "Well, it's good to see you making friends outside school, Kurt."

For just a moment Kurt entertained the idea of telling his teacher in blunt detail about exactly how friendly he and Noah actually were, if only to smack Mr. Schuester in the face with his own obliviousness. This was not the first time that Mr. Schue had completely failed to grasp what was actually going on when it came to Kurt and social interactions. "Thank you," Kurt said instead. He paused by the door to add; "For the record, all I wanted was a chance."

Will nodded at him. "From now on I'll be sure to give you one."

Kurt left wondering if Mr. Schuester even realised that he'd just implied that he never had before.

.

* * *

.

Noah was already there when Kurt arrived at the house, dressed impeccably in tailored Armani and pacing back and forth behind the living room couch as he finished up a call to someone that Kurt guessed was most likely his PA. Kurt had never actually spoken to the man himself, but Noah had told him enough that he automatically pictured a thin, twitchy man with hipster glasses and a penchant for overreactions. The fact that Noah hadn't fired him yet spoke in his favour. "... do I pay you for, you creepy little nerd?"

Kurt didn't interrupt the call. He walked into the living room and gave Noah a kiss on the cheek before he continued on to the bedroom to put his bag away and get changed. By the time he emerged again Noah was done with his phone call. He pulled Kurt close and wrapped his arms around the teen's waist. "Hey baby," Noah smiled, "how was school?"

"Mr. Schuester gave me the solo," Kurt reported, sliding his hands up Noah's chest. "After I auditioned and won the part through a unanimous vote. He told me that 'Puck' made him change his mind. He said they used to call you that in high school. He also said that it's good that I'm making friends outside of school."

Noah smirked. "Are we friends, Kurt?"

"I think we're a little more than friends, Puck."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes**: I try to avoid actually naming places that I've never been to, because no amount of research can compare to walking around in person. Instead I usually just make things up. So... if there is actually a Cedar Crest in Lima, it's not a place I knew existed and I apologise for any indiscrepencies.

.

* * *

.

The restaurant was Italian, and somewhere they'd been before. Noah's generous tipping had apparently gone a long way to the staff getting over the oddity of seeing them together... Though Kurt was just waiting for the day that someone from school got an evening job as a waiter. If that happened he wasn't going to explain himself at all. He'd let them work out what Kurt was doing with a hot older guy all on their own.

Their table for two was set with a white tablecloth, close enough to the window that they could people-watch while waiting for their food. Noah had slipped a shoe off almost as soon as he'd sat down and at the moment had his foot rubbing gently against the inside of Kurt's ankle. "I want to take you back to New York for the weekend," he said, seemingly out of the blue.

Kurt blinked at him in surprise, his face flushing. "I... I have school tomorrow. And my dad..."

"Won't even notice," Noah finished easily. "I've seen your stuff in the house, you're practically moved in. You told me yourself you stay the night there half the time. You should just move the fuck in properly."

Kurt bit his lip. He could see the wisdom in the suggestion. His home with his dad was awkward and their time together strained. If he was ever actually home for them to eat dinner together it was always in silence, or with stilted conversation that only reminded Kurt of how distant their relationship really was. On the other hand the house Noah had bought was decorated to their shared taste. It was comfortable, and he felt more like himself than when he was at home. "Yes," Kurt said finally, sounding much more confident than he felt. "I think I will."

Noah reached across the table to take Kurt's hand. "Come with me to New York?"

"Alright," Kurt agreed. After all, if he was moving out of home then he was as good as independent. He could make decisions like that now. He didn't need to ask permission to let his boyfriend take him on a trip to New York.

Kurt had no idea how or when the plans were made, but sometime between leaving the restaurant and going to bed with Noah there was suddenly a spot for him on the same flight that the older man was taking. Kurt packed a small bag, distracted by the way Noah kept idly brushing against him until he finally snapped and said that if Noah wanted him to actually go with him tomorrow he'd better stop teasing and let him pack, dammit!

Noah had backed off with a smirk, only to undress and lie naked on the bed as a silent, sexy distraction.

By the time Kurt was finished packing his bag he was hard, his erection pressing tight against the front of his pants. "You are a bad, bad man," Kurt glared at Noah, who just grinned at him in reply.

Kurt undressed, aware of Noah's eyes on him, watching every move. He felt shy, but powerful at the same time. He let his shirt drop to the floor and placed his hands at the fly of his pants. He stopped, bit his lower lip, and gave Noah a coy, flirtatious glance.

Noah already had a hand wrapped around himself, pulling on his cock as he watched the boy undress. Kurt dropped his pants and let them pool around his ankles before he stepped out of them and walked towards the bed. He felt a little silly crawling across it, but the way Noah looked at him more than made up for it. He kissed the inside of Noah's calf, the top of his thigh just above the knee, the crease of his hip. He let Noah's hand tangle in his hair and push him down, the man's other hand holding his cock in place for Kurt to kiss.

Kurt flicked his tongue out first, just a tiny tease before he closed his lips over the head of Noah's cock. He sucked softly, his hands braced against olive-skinned, muscular thighs. He could feel the movement of Noah's hand stroking the shaft, and when he opened his eyes he looked up through his lashes to see the man looking down at him.

"Lick it, baby," Noah murmured, his voice making Kurt's skin break out into excited goose bumps. "Remember? Use your tongue..."

Kurt obeyed, flattening his tongue against the flesh in his mouth and exploring its shape. He closed his eyes again, memorising Noah by taste and feel. The muscles under his hands shifted, legs spread further apart to give Kurt more room to settle between them. He could smell sweat, and cotton, and Noah's cologne - breathed in deep through his nose and moaned softly without meaning to.

Noah shivered. The movements of his hand became faster, rougher. Kurt knew what was coming but didn't pull away. He relished the bitter taste on his tongue, swallowed it down and waited for Noah's hand to fall away before he pulled back and licked his lips.

"Like a baby sex god," Noah said, his voice coming out like a purr. Kurt climbed into his lap and kissed him, whimpered softly when the man's large hands stroked over his body.

He had no idea where or how Noah got the lube, but when one of Noah's fingers worked up into his body Kurt decided he really didn't care. He cared even less when that one finger became two and Noah's other hand started stroking his cock.

He gripped the man's shoulders tight enough that was amazed that it didn't leave finger-shaped bruises, hips twitching back and forth between the two different sensations.

In a strangely cool, calculating part of him that remained separate from the constant rush of feeling, Kurt knew what this was - this rocking back and forth in Noah's lap, the man's fingers thrusting into him every time he pushed back. _Training_, his mind provided the word. Getting him ready for when it wasn't just fingers that Noah wanted to use on him. Getting him used to the motions, how to roll his hips and relax his muscles, thighs tense to hold his weight.

The cold part of him was grateful, knew that when it happened he'd be more than ready and much better than your average virgin. The rest of him wanted Noah to just stick it in already.

One last shove back onto Noah's fingers and Kurt came, semen spurting against the older man's stomach. Kurt slumped boneless against the chest in front of him, breathing hard against Noah's neck.

"Now look," Noah teased, lips brushing against the shell of Kurt's ear, "you messed me up."

"So have a shower," Kurt replied snippily, snuggling against the man's body. "That's what it's there for."

He could sense Noah's grin without even needing to look up and see it for himself. "Never knew anyone so bitchy after sex."

.

* * *

.

Kurt spent the short flight from Lima Airport to New York feeling airsick, as close to curled up miserably as anyone could actually get in an airplane seat. Noah assured him that it was only because this was a small plane, and the larger ones didn't make it quite so obvious that you were actually in the air. As a consequence of feeling as sick as a dog Kurt missed most of their journey through the airport, paying much more attention to sucking on lozenges meant to settle the stomach and trying not to puke on his shoes.

Somehow he got through security and picked up his one bag from the luggage collection. Next thing he knew he'd been hustled into the back of a cab and was lying on the seat with his head on Noah's lap.

"First time flying?" The cab driver asked, looking at them in the rear-view.

Noah nodded and answered for him, a hand gently smoothing Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "Turns out he gets airsick."

"My kid's exactly the same," the cab driver replied. "The family took a trip to Hawaii last year, you shoulda seen it. Fourteen year old kid puking up his guts in coach. I never saw anyone so keen to swap for an aisle seat!"

Kurt groaned softly and hid his face against Noah's thigh. He didn't want to think about puking _or_ flying.

He was still looking a little green when the cab finally pulled to a stop and Noah nudged him until he was actually sitting up. "This is us, Kurt," Noah told him, already digging in his pocket for his wallet. Kurt nodded absently and picked up his bag from the floor - he'd probably regret having put it there later, but for now he didn't much care. He watched Noah hand over a few large bills to the driver and hopped out of the car when the older man did. A few moments later and he was following Noah into the lobby of the most ridiculously fancy building Kurt had ever seen outside a movie.

Kurt felt rumpled and out of place. For the first time in his life he wondered whether he was really as fashionable as he felt... But then Noah was steering him into an elevator and pressing the button for the top floor, one hand kept steady at the small of the teen's back.

He looked around Noah's apartment in awe, privately satisfied to see that everything seemed to be decorated in a similar style to the house back in Lima, even if it was in different colours. The first thing Kurt did was make his way over to one of the windows to look outside at the view he'd missed on the ride in.

"So?" Noah asked, and leaned down to kiss the back of Kurt's neck. "What do you think?"

"I love it," Kurt breathed. "It's amazing." He turned to face Noah, suddenly feeling a whole lot less sick and whole lot more excited. "Can we go see a show tomorrow?"

.

* * *

.

Kurt's short time in New York was spent entirely in Noah's presence. He dragged the amused older man shopping for an outfit to wear to the theatre, then oversaw the buying of tickets, bullied him into dining where he wanted to, and even spent a few short hours wandering around Noah's office as a 'journalism student'. (It turned out he was absolutely right about the PA, who looked at him as if he knew very well that Noah was sleeping with him but had no proof.)

Kurt was sad to see it end, and even sadder to see the plane that would take him back to Lima - and not just because he knew he was going to feel sick for the next few hours.

He sighed when he got back to the empty, Noahless house. Tomorrow Kurt had school, and his only consolation was getting to tell Mercedes all about his absolutely amazing weekend.

.

* * *

.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the look Finn gave him when they were paired together for the duet project. "If you have some inane delusion that I may - for some ridiculous reason - be attracted to you, think again," he told the taller boy frankly, and couldn't help but be amused by the look of relief on Finn's face. "You're not my type," Kurt concluded.

"Who is your type?" Quinn asked suddenly from behind them. "We've never even seen you check out another guy at this school."

Kurt turned to see her, flanked by Santana and Brittany, all three Cheerios looking at him expectantly. "That's because my ideal guy doesn't go to this school."

"So who's your ideal guy?" Santana asked, hands on her hips.

Kurt pursed his lips, looked her over, and decided to indulge the question. "Tall, handsome," he said, "olive skin, gorgeous body. He's also wildly successful, rich, and has excellent taste."

Santana gave him a small, nasty little smirk. "Good luck finding a guy like that."

"Especially in Lima," Quinn added. She smiled sweetly at Finn. "Walk me to my car, Finn?"

Kurt let the Cheerios think they'd had the last word, but he couldn't help smirking a little to himself. "Little do they know," he muttered under his breath. He wondered what they'd think if they saw him with Noah. It would probably cause their tiny little brains to explode.

.

* * *

.

"... and every year when the yearbook is defaced the glee club has always gotten the worst of it," Kurt finished up, already curled up in bed while he spoke to Noah over the phone. "I saw your handwriting," he added dryly, "in several of those old Thunderclaps in the library. You gave Mr. Schue a moustache and bushy eyebrows."

Noah's chuckle somehow still managed to do funny things to Kurt's stomach despite their distance. "What can I say? It's tradition."

"It's a tradition that I do not want to be a part of."

"So get them first," Noah suggested. "Grab a sharpie and draw on the popular kids."

"I don't think you're meant to encourage vandalism," Kurt replied, somewhat sceptical. "And it's behaviour like that which will lead directly to being beaten up, thrown in dumpsters, or locked into the janitor's closet with a hive of angry killer bees. At this point I put nothing past those Neanderthals."

"Kurt, baby... Just scribble all over their fat faces. If they bug you, I'll send someone to slash their tyres. I'll come over there and beat them up in person if they lay a hand on you. Seriously," Noah finished, "I will fuck them up."

"Killer bees," Kurt repeated. "Slushy facials."

"Do you want me to come down there and do it for you?"

"No," Kurt said firmly, not about to start doubting the lengths that Noah would go to for him. "I am venting to you, not asking you to come to Lima to draw on people's faces. If I want to commit an act of petty vandalism I can do it myself, thankyou."

When he hung up Kurt had absolutely no intentions to participate in yearbook vandalism. He changed his mind when he actually saw what had been done to the glee club's photo, and furtively retaliated by drawing giant handlebar moustaches on the entire football and cheerleading teams in ballpoint pen. All the while silently terrified that he would be seen and carried off by a pack of easily insulted, muscle-bound twits.

He felt strangely satisfied afterwards.

.

* * *

.

Kurt found out that his father was dating Carole Hudson only when Finn told him about it. For a moment Kurt didn't actually believe him, but the way Finn said it had the awful ring of truth.

"Your dad wanted me to tell you that you still have some of your stuff down in the basement," Finn added, shuffling his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "I didn't even know you'd moved out."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. He was about to tell Finn that he was mistaken, that Kurt hadn't moved out of home. Then he thought about the last time he'd actually gone home, about the last time he'd cooked dinner in a kitchen that wasn't modelled in stainless steel and marble. He shut his mouth, his protests dead on his lips. "Thankyou," Kurt said after a moment. "I'll have to remember to come and get them."

"So... you're cool with my mom dating your dad?" Finn asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kurt answered airily, trying to hide the odd feeling of hurt that came with remembering that his father hadn't tried to speak to him in months. "To be honest, I haven't spoken to my father in a long time."

"Oh. Why? Did you have a fight?"

"No." It would be less painful if they had. "We're just too different. We have nothing to talk about, so we don't talk."

Fin nodded. The taller boy let the quiet go on a little longer before he confessed; "Actually, we're moving in with your dad. Into your old house. He said I could take the basement, so..."

"So, I should get the rest of my things before you move in," Kurt finished. He could feel his cheeks flush with colour and felt a sudden rush of anger. He stamped it down and put a smile on his face instead. "Do you get along with my dad, Finn?"

"Yeah," Finn replied, though his enthusiasm was dulled by the obvious awkwardness of the situation. "Burt's great. He knows a ton about old rock bands and sports. He, uh, said he'd give me a job this summer and teach me how to fix cars. It's pretty awesome..."

"I'm glad you get along," Kurt said, as politely as he could manage.

"Hey Kurt... Where do you live now?"

"Cedar Crest*," Kurt replied, naming one of Lima's wealthier suburbs. He saw no reason to lie, or to pretend he lived in some cheap little flat somewhere like other kids his age might if they moved out of their parents house. It wasn't as if anyone had cared to check up on him. "Tell my dad I'll be by to pick up my things tomorrow, and it would be much easier for all of us if they were in boxes."

"Sure," Finn said, sensing that the conversation was over. "I'll tell him..."

"Thankyou." Kurt forced another polite smile onto his face and walked away before the facade could crumble. It was true, he hadn't spoken to or seen his father in months. But it wasn't as if they'd talked a lot before then. Kurt tried to remember if Burt had ever even asked him where he was going when he started spending nights away from home. At least he was obviously happy with Finn as a replacement son, Kurt thought bitterly.

.

* * *

.

Kurt realised that he had daddy issues sometime between dropping his messenger bag on the marble top of the kitchen counter and dialling Noah's number on the house line. It was as obvious as a slap to the face, now that he was thinking about it. Kurt felt neglected by his own father, he felt like he wasn't understood, like they never connected, like he was just a big disappointment because he'd grown up queer and fabulous instead of straight and normal. That would have been fairly average on the scale of issues, but Kurt was also dating a man eleven years older than he was. A man who provided for him financially, almost the way a parent would.

"I am so thoroughly messed up," Kurt said aloud, forgetting that he'd just dialled Noah's cell.

The call connected half way through. "Kurt?" Noah's voice piped up in his ear. Kurt nearly dropped the phone. "What's messed up?"

"Nothing," Kurt answered. He sighed and changed his mind a split-second later. "Well, actually, Finn told me today that his mother is dating my father. That they are actually moving in to my old house and I need to pick up the rest of my things before then. I didn't know... Nobody told me," Kurt finished, hugging himself around the waist with one arm.

"Baby, I'm sorry," Noah cooed soothingly. "Hold on just a second."

Kurt bit his lip. He listened to the sounds of paper shuffling, followed by footsteps and a door being closed. From the sounds of things Noah was at the office, and judging by his level of calmness (and lack of profanity) he'd probably just come back from his four o'clock get-the-fuck-out-of-the-office coffee break.

"Ok," Noah said.

"It's not that I'm upset my father has a life," Kurt started. He sat himself down on the end of the couch and curled up.

"He's a grown man, he can do what he likes with it. I'm not bothered by that. I... It's... Oh my god." Kurt raised his free hand to wipe underneath his eyes, mad at himself for his body's reactions. "Why didn't anyone tell me? Why was Finn - of all people, Finn! - the one who finally told me? My father never asked - where I went or what I did or even if I was ok, never even thought about asking, but he cares about Finn enough that he's giving him a job at the shop and taking him to sports games! It's like... he finally has the son he wanted."

Kurt was crying at the end. He pressed his face into his knees, holding his breath and willing himself not to descend into sobs. He could hear Noah's breathing, and for a while neither of them said anything.

"Did I ever tell you," Noah said finally, "about my dickweed father?"

Kurt shook his head, then remembered that there was no way for Noah to know that he had, and added a quiet; "No."

"Let me tell you about him. He was an asshole," Noah started, and Kurt couldn't help but smile a little in sympathy. "He left my mom when I was about thirteen, just lit on out, no explanations. Never looked back once. I found out later he used to hit my mom when he was drunk, and it was 'no big deal'. I didn't hear from him once in five years. Next time I heard anything from my father's side of the family it was to find out he was DOA after drunk driving and my grandmother had just kicked the bucket."

"And the moral of the story," Kurt sighed, "is parents suck."

"No. The moral is it gets better. Fuck your dad. You've got me."

Kurt thought about it for a moment. His lips turned up in a smile. "You do realise that's kind of creepy, don't you?"

He decided right then and there that if Noah ever asked him to call him 'daddy' he was going to slap the man full in the face and refuse to talk to him for a week. Lucky for him Noah's reaction was a chuckle and a; "Just don't start calling me 'dad' and we'll be fine, Kurt."

.

* * *

.

Kurt thought he did pretty well when it came time to go to his old house and retrieve the boxes full of stuff still left from when he lived in the basement. He greeted his father cordially enough, cool and distant in a mint-green shirt and black vest combination. He'd deduced that the extra car in the driveway belonged to Carole and therefore wasn't the least bit surprised when it turned out that Finn had come over to help.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Kurt told the other boy as he walked down the stairs to the basement. All of his furniture was still there where he left it, looking empty and sad. There were six boxes stacked at the end of the bed, each one labelled in Burt's blocky handwriting with basic words like 'clothes', 'books', and 'misc'.

"I'm going to help anyway," Finn replied, and picked up the box marked 'books'. "Your dad said it would be rude not to."

Kurt sighed. "Of course," he said, and picked up the smaller 'misc' box. He turned on his heel and carried it up the stairs and out of the house to the back of his Navigator. Thank god the car was big enough. Apparently the back seat was useful for more than just making out and the boot not just there to hold shopping bags or boxes full of costumes for the glee club.

"I can help you unpack them at your place too," Finn suggested, much too casually for it not to have been rehearsed.

"And of course you came up with that idea all by yourself," Kurt smiled at him. Why not, he thought to himself rebelliously. He could get Finn to do all of the carrying while he stayed cool in the kitchen and made himself a glass of iced tea. "Fine," he said, "but you can take your own car."

Finn agreed to those terms readily, and after a few short minutes Kurt was behind the wheel of the Navigator, leading Carole's Volvo through Lima to his house in Cedar Crest. He wondered what Finn would think of it, the neatly trimmed gardens (catered for by a gardening company), the pale peach exterior, circle driveway and tall windows. Kurt parked the Navigator close to the door and opened the boot while he waited for Finn.

"The Fabrays live about five minutes away," Finn stated, looking at the house. "This is where you live?"

"No, I thought I'd park here for the fun of it," Kurt said even as he unlocked the front door. "Wipe your shoes before you come in. I don't want to mop the floors if you track dirt all over the place."

"Does anyone else know you live here?" Finn asked as he dutifully wiped his feet on the mat outside before he followed Kurt into the parlour. Kurt glanced back at the taller boy and felt a smug satisfaction on the look of surprise on Finn's face.

"Mercedes knows," Kurt answered, breezing into the kitchen. "We hang out here when we aren't at the mall. Sometimes she comes here to practice songs for glee, the rec room has excellent acoustics." So did the main bathroom, but Kurt wasn't going to take Finn on the grand tour to show him.

"And you've been living here for months?" Finn sounded surprised. "How do you afford all this?"

"I don't think that's any of your business. The car boot is open. Why don't you make yourself useful and start bringing in those boxes?" Kurt turned back to Finn and smiled sweetly as he added; "I'll make tea for when you're done."

Finn hesitated, looked like he wanted to protest, but eventually gave in and headed back to the car. He had just finished stacking the boxes in the parlour and had reappeared in the kitchen for the promised tea when Kurt was distracted by the phone ringing.

"Tea's on the counter," he told Finn, turning to pick up the cordless, "feel free to help yourself. Hello?"

Kurt knew who the person calling would be, and wasn't disappointed. "All moved in for good?" Noah's voice purred into his ear through the phone.

"At least until I finish school," Kurt replied, aware that Finn was most likely listening in. "Finn is helping me unpack."

"I'm wearing a black three-piece suit and I've got my hand down my pants thinking of you," Noah teased, knowing it would make Kurt blush in front of the other boy.

"You're such a jerk," Kurt replied, face flushed bright red as he pictured Noah sitting in his office with his pants open. He knew full well that Noah wouldn't actually be touching himself in his office, but now the idea was in his head and he couldn't get it out again. "I'm going now. Goodbye, Noah." Kurt disconnected the call and put the cordless phone back in its place.

He turned back around to see Finn giving him an odd look. "Don't ask," Kurt told him, "you don't want to know."

"Who's Noah?" Finn asked anyway.

"My boyfriend," Kurt replied simply.

"Oh. Uh... That's great. I mean, that you have..." Finn cleared his throat and started again. "I guess I should get out of your way now. You have a cool house, Kurt. And thanks for the tea."

"Thanks for helping me move my things," Kurt said, as if Finn hadn't done all of the work.

.

* * *

.

Kurt's current living situation was common knowledge by the end of the week. He didn't mind so much, given that it changed almost nothing. It did give him the idea that he should consider getting himself declared independent, maybe change the emergency contacts listed on his file at school.

He ignored the suggestion of parties at his house, and announced that he'd call the police if anyone 'just happened to drop by' with a keg and several friends.

The news that he had a boyfriend was less shocking, apparently, than his unofficial emancipation. Everyone just seemed to assume that he was dating someone from another school, while at the same time speculating that Mr. Hummel had kicked him out when he found out his son was a fag. Kurt wasn't sure what to say about that. It wasn't true, but he didn't know if he wanted to defend his father either. They'd never been close, Kurt reasoned, and it would be strange to start defending him when they hadn't spoken in months.

The glee kids were the only ones who seemed really interested in Kurt's mysterious 'Noah'. He answered the questions that he could without risking trouble. He could tell them when they'd met, but not how old he was. He could tell the girls whether or not he was a good kisser, but not where he lived or if he was still in school. He refused to give a last name on the basis that he didn't want the whole club stalking him and scaring him off - a barefaced lie, since he'd told Noah all about each and every one of his friends in the club and there was no way they could scare him off.

If Kurt felt at all bad about lying he hid it well, ignored it and thought about Noah's next weekend visit.

.

* * *

.

They spent most of the weekend in bed, only emerging for meals and a quick excursion to the grocery store. Sunday evening, naked and sweaty on the bed, Kurt moulded himself against Noah's side and watched the man's face as their breathing eased.

"Why haven't we had sex yet?" Kurt asked. He flushed when Noah looked at him. "I know this is sex," he said, referring to what they'd just done, "the touching, and oral sex, and mutual masturbation. But the closest we ever get to penetration is when you use your fingers. I'd like to know why."

"Do you want to have sex, Kurt?" Noah asked him, and stroked a hand down the teen's naked back.

Kurt was sixteen years old and male. He gave Noah a dry look and arched an eyebrow as though asking him if he knew just how stupid that question really was. Noah's hands slowly started to roam, stroking Kurt's skin and brushing against all of the most sensitive points on his body.

The man rolled them, pressing Kurt back against the mattress and pinning him with the weight of his body. "Want to do it now, baby? Before I go?"

Kurt arched up against him, seeking Noah's mouth with his own. He thought about it as they kissed, imagined what it would feel like to have more than just fingers stretching him open and pushing inside of him. He wondered if it would hurt and decided that he didn't care. "Yes," he panted against the man's lips. "Please, I want to."

Despite their earlier activities he could feel it when Noah's cock began to fill, hardening against him and filling him with anticipation. Noah's lips caught his, tongue running along his bottom lip before dipping into his mouth.

Kurt spread his legs, thighs parted to let Noah's body settle in the space between them. The man's hips rocked gently against his, delicious friction between them meant to entice and arouse. Kurt moved his hands down over Noah's body, tracing the patterns of muscle that rippled under his skin along his back and sides. Somehow it felt more intimate than before, every inch of skin in contact with Noah tingling.

He pouted in protest when Noah pulled away from him, but let the man's hands guide him into a new position. "Roll over, baby," Noah instructed, his voice low and breathy, "it's easier this way."

Kurt rolled onto his stomach and let Noah's hands on his hips pull him up to his knees on the bed. He folded his arms under his head for a pillow, back arched. He was completely exposed but felt only a little nervous - he already knew what Noah thought of his body.

He felt the movement of the mattress when Noah reached for the bottle of lubricant on the bedside table. He heard the cap open and his breathing sped up. Kurt spread his legs a little wider, waiting, and after what felt like an unfair eternity he could feel one of Noah's fingers at his hole.

It was easy going in, his body opening up around the digit without complaint - they'd done this part once before today, though Kurt had been on his back at the time. It was easier to push his hips back like this, instinctively rocking back when Noah's finger pressed in. He did the same for two, and bit his lip on three, his neglected cock hanging hard and red beneath him.

"Please?" Kurt whispered, sure that his voice would crack if he tried to speak any louder.

"Ok," Noah murmured in reply, thrusting his fingers in twice more before he slowly removed them. Kurt shivered in anticipation, face pressed tight against the cushion of his forearms. He could feel Noah's weight shifting, moving closer, and suddenly he could feel the man right behind him, pressed up close enough that his body heat was like a blanket against his skin. "Ready, baby?"

"Mm-hm," Kurt replied, not sure enough of his lips and tongue's cooperation to try anything with more syllables.

One of Noah's hands settled on his lower back and something pushed against Kurt's entrance - rounded and smooth, flirting with his body with a couple of tiny thrusts that did nothing more than press against him. The next push was harder, a slow thrust that buried just an inch or two of Noah's cock inside him.

Kurt muffled a soft noise with a hand, eyes squeezed shut against the ache. It hurt, and as soon as the hurt ebbed Noah was pushing in again and sparking a new ache. Large, warm hands soothed at his hips, the heat from Noah's hands doing more to relax his muscles than the touch. By the time he could feel Noah's thighs pressed against him Kurt was panting, breathing as if he'd just run a marathon.

"You ok?" Noah's voice rumbled, closer to his ear than Kurt expected.

"Uh... uh-huh," Kurt panted after a moment, and rolled his hips a little just to prove it.

This is what it felt like, he thought as Noah began to move, gentle rolling thrusts that dragged against his insides. It felt good, he decided, the motions, the rocking movements of their bodies together. Noah's hands on his hips holding him steady, his skin on fire, cock aching to be touched. Kurt could tell that Noah was being gentle, taking it slow for their first time. He wanted to tell the man not to worry, but selfishness had stolen his voice.

Kurt wanted it slow. He wanted it drawn out. He wanted to feel every inch of the man above and inside of him. He whimpered into his arms, thinking about moving until he could reach down and start stroking himself. Noah solved the problem for him, a large, hot hand reaching around to tug on his cock in time with each thrust.

After that it was over fast. Kurt found himself pushing his hips back against Noah's thrusts and then forward into his hand, soft noises falling from his lips. His body felt tight and hot all over, and then he was coming, staining Noah's hand and the expensive duvet cover. He came down slowly from the sudden spike of pleasure, the feeling drawn out until he remembered that Noah was still thrusting into him unspent.

It took concentration to match his thrusts, pushing back with his hips and attempting to clench his muscles on the back-stroke to make it better. He must have been doing something right. Noah grunted, hips stilling briefly, then rolled his hips couple of times before slowly pulling away.

Kurt slowly dropped down from his knees, feeling his body protest all the way until he was lying on his stomach on the bed. In the wet patch he'd made on the cover, but he didn't care about that right now. Noah lay down beside him, an arm draped across his back.

"I'll miss you tomorrow," Kurt said finally, his voice muffled. He peeked up over his forearms to look at the man beside him.

Noah looked content, sated, and gave him a small smile. "Me too."

"Noah..."

"What is it, baby?"

"Can you drop off the duvet cover for dry cleaning on your way to the airport?"

Noah chuckled and rolled over. "You," he told Kurt, clearly settling down to go to sleep, "are such a bitchy little queen."


	4. Epilogue

The loss at Regionals was devastating in its unfairness. It felt as though they'd worked so hard, overcome so much, just to get kicked back at the last second. They had an after party anyway, what they assumed was going to be one last hurrah before the glee club was cut. Kurt had felt the team spirit and volunteered his house at the last second. It was larger than Mr. Schuester's apartment, and much less illegal than breaking into the school to use the choir room, also less depressing than the auditorium.

"My only concession is that you make sure you take your shoes off when we get there," he announced as they all piled back into the bus hired to take them to Regionals. "If anyone scuffs my hardwood flooring there will be a murder."

He gave Will his address and took his seat on the bus next to Mercedes. She immediately linked arms with him. "We did rock," she said.

"We did," Kurt agreed and squeezed her hand. "And I will go to my grave swearing we only lost due to blatant favouritism."

Mercedes sighed. "I will miss this next year though."

"Me too," Kurt said. The pair of them fell silent, Kurt staring out the window until the bus finally pulled to a stop outside his house.

The after party was fairly sombre. More like a wake, mourning the imminent loss of their club. Kurt played the good host, made sure everyone had refreshments and nobody wandered off too far (more specifically to the master bedroom. Or the upstairs bathroom, which held two toothbrushes and Noah's more masculine shower gel and cologne). He realised he'd forgotten about the few scant pictures of him and Noah together scattered about the place when Brittany picked up a picture frame from the mantle and commented; "This is sweet. I didn't know you'd been to New York."

Kurt might have gotten away with explaining the picture to Brittany and just putting it back, but Santana was right there beside her. "That guy is hot," she said, looking over Brittany's shoulder at the photo of Kurt and Noah posing together after having grabbed an obliging tourist to take their picture. Santana examined at the photo for a couple of seconds, then looked up at Kurt sceptically. "Don't tell me _that guy_ is your boyfriend?"

"If it makes you feel better," Kurt replied snippily, his cheeks turning pink, "I won't."

"Why does he look familiar?" Brittany asked aloud, frowning down at the photo.

The question, and the congregation around one of Kurt's photo frames, brought Quinn over. The blonde girl looked at the photo for a moment. "That's Noah Puckerman, the youngest man ever to own a company that produces fashion magazines. No wonder you got a picture with him, he's practically a fashion industry god."

"Wow." Brittany smiled brightly at Kurt and handed the photo frame to him. "You met a fashion icon in New York! All we did was go shopping."

"Actually," Kurt started as he set the frame back in its place.

He was cut off by Quinn. "Hold on. There's another photo here. And that," she pointed to a landmark just barely visible in the upper right hand corner, "is in Lima."

"You actually know Noah Puckerman?" Santana asked, an odd look on her face.

"He grew up here in Lima," Kurt answered. "I've known him for almost a year, we met by chance when he came back for his mother's funeral. Mr. Schuester actually went to school with him."

The three girls looked at each other, then immediately converged on the Spanish teacher, leaving Kurt alone by the mantle. At least temporarily. He smiled at the photos, then turned and joined Mercedes and Tina on the couch, falling into their discussion with ease. It wasn't until fifteen minutes later, after the cheerleaders had finished pumping Mr. Schue for information, that Kurt found himself in the middle of a Cheerio cluster again.

"Mr. Schue says you're actually friends with Noah Puckerman," Santana informed him from where she was leaning against the back of the couch.

"As in actual, close friends," Quinn added, "not just one of those people who says they're friends with a celebrity when they're really not and have met, like, twice in real life."

"And this is shocking to you how?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow at the girls. "I am arguably the best dressed person in the county."

"Can you introduce us?" Quinn asked, calculating little stars dancing in her eyes. The only explanation for those stars, Kurt thought, was that she was too dazzled by Noah's fame to put the puzzle pieces together just yet.

"He'll be in town for the last day of school this year before summer," Kurt replied, conveniently forgetting to mention that Noah was coming only for a couple of days before flying the both of them back to New York for Kurt's summer holidays. Mercedes knew, and was practically vibrating with the effort not to say anything. As soon as the 'party' was over and everyone else was gone Kurt made his best friend renew her promise not to say a word.

.

* * *

.

End of year exams and last minute assignment coupled with the sudden, happy surprise that that glee club would not be cancelled and the pressure of cheerleading Nationals was the only explanation Kurt had for none of the three girls figuring it out before the last day of school. Kurt knew he was playing with fire, but he frankly didn't care. It had been nearly a year, he hadn't spoken to his father for most of that time, he was now considered independent by the state, and he was in love with Noah. The fact that he was still only sixteen was the only issue still hanging over his head, and while their difference in age would cause a scandal it technically wasn't illegal according to state law in Ohio.

Kurt booked a taxi to take him to school on the last day, having confirmed that Noah would be there waiting for him when school finished.

He spent most of the day waiting for the summer holidays to begin already, much like most other students. He was expecting the trio of Cheerios to catch up with him after the final bell rang and was not disappointed.

"So...?" Quinn prompted. "When are you going to introduce us to Noah Puckerman?"

Kurt checked his phone, looking for the last message Noah had sent to him, informing him that their plane trip would actually be a road trip instead. "Right now," he said, and tucked the phone back into his bag. "He's in the parking lot. He brought the Lamborghini."

He led the way to the parking lot, where the Lamborghini sat parked innocently underneath the shade of a lone, scraggly tree. Kurt smiled and picked up his pace a little. The car door opened before he got there and Noah stepped out, perfectly dressed in an impeccable pinstripe suit and green silk tie that brought out the faint, matching tones in his eyes. "Kurt," he greeted the small group of teens with a smile, "ladies."

Kurt walked up to Noah and took his hand, twining their fingers together. If Noah was at all surprised by the public contact outwardly he didn't so much as blink. "Noah," Kurt said, "these are some of my friends from Glee. Brittany, Santana, and Quinn. I told them I'd introduce them to you."

"Brittany, Santana, Quinn," Noah repeated in the voice that Kurt recognised as his 'good impression' voice, looking at each of the Cheerios in turn. "Nice to meet you girls. Kurt told me a lot about his friends in the club..."

Kurt could see the moment it clicked into place for the girls. At least for Santana and Quinn, Brittany was still smiling politely, just excited to be meeting someone moderately famous. The other two girls looked at Noah, then how he was holding Kurt's hand, then at Kurt's face. "Anyway," Kurt said, cutting in before either of them could say anything (and bringing home the fact that they'd just been socially one-upped), "we should probably get going."

He tugged lightly on Noah's fingers, hoping the man understood the cue. He knew that Noah had a moment later when a pair of warm lips pressed to his in an amused kiss. Noah understood the social politics behind showing off your rich, gorgeous boyfriend in front of the cheerleaders. (Later he would tell Kurt that he thought the teen's ruthlessness was 'fucking adorable'.)

Noah broke the kiss and smiled at Kurt. "I'll let you say goodbye to your friends, baby," he said, and pulled away to slide back into the driver's seat.

Kurt allowed himself a grin at the almost identical looks on Quinn and Santana's faces. "Bye girls," he said, and walked around the car until he could get in on the passenger side.

Brittany was the only one who replied with a cheery "'bye, Kurt!"


	5. Outtake  Alan Stace

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.  
**Author Notes**: Really just testing the water with this one, which is why it doesn't get it's own story and is just being tacked onto the end. This is set, obviously, towards the beginning of Sugar Daddy. I wrote it in the hopes of clearing one or two tiny details up, and _it is not the prelude to a sequel_.

.

* * *

.

"You bought another car," Alan stated, scrolling down on his PDA and arching an eyebrow at his boss. "A Lincoln Navigator. Registered with Ohio plates."

"Who are you, my accountant?"

"Insured with the usual company," Alan continued, "who list the primary driver as a 'Mr. Kurt Hummel'. Age sixteen."

"Ah, I see," Noah drawled, watching the other man from over the top of a tumbler full of ice and amber liquid. "You're my parole officer."

Alan Stace generally liked his job. He liked his salary, he liked the free tickets to gala events and the heavily discounted designer suits. The medical was good. He got regular holidays. He could leave in the middle of the day for a three hour lunch as long as he took his phone, his notebook, and picked up the boss' dry cleaning on the way back. The downside had nothing to do with the hours or the menial tasks he was often expected to perform - Alan wasn't complaining about spending four years in college just to become a glorified messenger boy. The downside was that he actually liked his boss, which meant not wanting his boss to wind up in court or in the middle of a money-draining PR disaster.

The downside was all about Noah's attraction to young ingenue types, and his unfortunate habit of never bothering to ask for ages until after the fact. Knowing about, and even covering for, the sometimes-underage girls that Noah tended to pick up was the downside.

The boys were worse, Alan mused. That was two layers to the potential scandal - the words 'underage' and 'boy' when put together beside a businessman's name tended to be the end to that man's career.

It didn't matter how willing they were. If they were under eighteen the state still called it statutory rape.

Alan stood leaning against the wall in Noah Puckerman's office, a top floor corner suite with tinted windows and an amazing view. It was technically after hours or they never would have been having this conversation, though office hours was never a hundred percent guarantee that Noah wouldn't have been drinking. Alan was also still technically on the clock, but he would have been here to discuss this little tidbit he'd found even if he wasn't.

"Sixteen," Alan repeated dryly.

"Don't knot your panties," Noah replied, leaning back against the luxurious leather of his office chair. "State law. Look it up and leave me alone on this one."

"I hope you haven't made it obvious. Even if it's legal there it's still going to be heavily frowned upon here."

"It's fucking _Lima_," Noah replied, stressing the word. "We're talking about the town that wouldn't notice if Donatella fucking Versace waltzed into the local Starbucks and asked for a decaf soy latte and six small dogs."

"Have you considered that you might be followed?" Alan pressed, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"You mean by anyone who isn't you?"

"Have you even thought this thing - this relationship or whatever it is you think you're having - have you even thought it through?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Noah replied. Alan arched an eyebrow at his boss, and his boss replied with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to keep him in Lima until he's eighteen, buy him shit 'til he can't see straight and be the shoulder he needs to cry on. Then, if I haven't got bored yet, I'll give him a leg up, he can join the scene as New York's favourite gay little sweetheart, and everyone's happy as can be."

"You're essentially paying for an underage boyfriend," Alan translated dryly.

"A secret, sexy as sin, sad little virgin boyfriend," Noah corrected. "All the way in sleepy little Lima where you don't have to worry about covering up hotel bills and scouting for paparazzi."

Alan frowned. He was mustering his thoughts to put forward another sensible argument when Noah got an odd look on his face, then stood up and shoved a hand into his pants pocket. He pulled out his mobile phone, the screen lit up and displaying the name of a caller.

"Speak of the devil," Noah chuckled. He downed the last of his drink and set the glass down on the desk (Alan suspected him of purposefully missing the coaster), cleared his throat, and answered the phone with a crooning; "Hey baby. You caught me just as I was about to leave the office."

"I guess this means you're not taking my advice," Alan said, snapping the slider of his PDA phone shut. "Again."

"Go suck cock," Noah stated. After a pause (during which Alan could hear the startled 'excuse me!' even from half way across the room) he added into the phone; "My PA. He's being a whiny bitch."

"Goodnight, Noah," Alan called pointedly, walking himself out of the office suite.

He wasn't going to say anything and he would cover for Mr. Puckerman if required. But that didn't mean he approved.


	6. Outtake, Burt

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.  
**Author Notes**: Outtake in Burt's POV, to hopefully give youa new perspective on the story. _Again, this is not the prelude to a sequel_. However. If you have any ideas for oneshots, outtakes, or things you would like to see, please let me know. I am open to prompts based in the Sugar Daddy universe.

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The one thing that Burt Hummel regretted most was his relationship with his son. How he saw the gap as it formed between them and just kept hoping that one day his baby boy would come back to him, that the way Kurt had withdrawn inwards and downwards was only temporary teenage moodiness. He wished he'd sat his boy down in those first few months at the beginning of junior high and explained that it was all ok, that he was always there if Kurt wanted to talk and that he would always love his son no matter what. He thought that if maybe he'd explained that then none of this would have happened - the last four years would have been different and he would have two sons living under his roof.

Sixteen turning seventeen and happy, full of teenage concerns and fretting over teenage drama.

His biological son wouldn't be living in another house, their only methods of communication second-hand stories from Finn, his stepson.

Every time Burt looked at a credit card statement he was reminded of what his relationship with Kurt used to be, back when they actually had a relationship. He remembered the first time Kurt had come to him with a catalogue printed from the internet, a nervous expression on his face as he tried to explain himself and ask permission at the same time. Burt had thought he was doing his son a favour by not embarrassing him any further, by just smiling at him and handing over the card and telling him not to go over a certain amount.

He thought he'd been giving his son the freedom to express himself in more than jeans and corduroy.

The retrospective twenty-twenty was that he had pushed his son further away with that. By just handing over the credit card, by not talking about it, by not listening to his son's awkward explanations all the way through he had been sending the message 'I don't want to know' and 'buy something so you'll get out of my hair'. He had sent the complete opposite message to the one he had wanted to, and it had taken him a long time to really work that out.

He remembered how their conversations had dwindled in number as the numbers on the credit bills went up and Kurt's wardrobe started to contain as much flash and dazzle as a peacock's tail. Burt tried repeatedly to bridge the gap, but whenever he asked Kurt about his day he'd only a receive a blasé "it was fine", and asking about his friends or his class work or whatever froofy show was playing in Columbus only ever prompted Kurt to shut down and block him out. Or worse, to lie.

By the time Kurt was fifteen, Burt knew better. If he asked questions about Kurt's day - where he had been, what he had done - he would only be lied to or ignored. He concerned himself with providing for his boy and just being happy that Kurt was safe. He didn't think Kurt ever knew that at least once a week Burt would pull out the old photo albums, look at pictures of his son, his wife, and wish that things were different.

He wanted that smiling little boy back, but even in pictures it was obvious that Kurt's smile had started to fade. He went from grinning six year old to smiling ten year old to fake-smiling preteen so quickly. Grades never dropped, Kurt never looked depressed, he just got distant. And Burt hated how he'd let it happen.

Then one day his fifteen year old son came home late one evening loaded down with bags from designer stores and Burt privately sighed and waited for the sudden spike in his credit card bill. He waited days, even checked the balance online, but nothing happened to the account balance.

He didn't notice the new phone until he went downstairs to try and talk to Kurt about the mysteriously missing credit card bill. Kurt had been lying on his bed, shoes off, feet covered by warm woollen socks, a sleek, expensive phone held in his hands as he texted someone that doubtless Burt had never even heard of.

The second step from the bottom creaked and Kurt looked up guiltily, a sudden flush rising on his cheeks when he saw who had startled him. "Dad!" Kurt had exclaimed, "What are you doing down here?"

Burt had wondered whether he should be worried that Kurt sounded as if he were asking a stranger just what they were doing in his house. "I just wanted to talk to you about the credit bill."

"Oh." Kurt's face had fallen, the expression replaced almost instantly by a mask of cool indifference. "Well, you wont need to worry about bills anymore, dad."

"Ok," Burt said, and paused to gather his thoughts, to figure out how to ask what was going on without sounding like he was accusing his son of anything. Kurt beat him to it.

"I got a job," Kurt said abruptly. "So I can pay for my own wardrobe now."

The phone in Kurt's hands beeped and Burt watched his son's face change as he looked down at whatever message had come up on the screen. He looked happier, his lips curved into a tiny smile. "Ok," Burt said, backing up the stairs. He didn't think that pressing the issue would get him a different answer. Experience told him that pressing Kurt was a good way to get him to clam up and say nothing at all.

Like Kurt had said, the credit account stayed steady, with no new additions after Kurt's infrequent shopping trips.

Without the drain on his bank account Burt found himself able to afford an upgrade to some of his shop's equipment even before the recommended warranty ran out. The upgrade was no consolation, and he watched from afar as his son seemed to become the same smiling boy that he remembered. With one very big exception.

This boy didn't want to talk to him, and never ran up to him with shouts of "Dad! Dad! Look what I can do!". This boy never asked for hugs. Never asked for anything.

Burt felt like a failure.

He felt like even more of one on Kurt's sixteenth birthday. He wrapped the present he'd bought his son in a plain box topped with a store-bought bow and left it on the kitchen table. It was still there when he got back from work, and a shiny brand new tank of a car was parked in the driveway. When Burt went downstairs to ask Kurt whether it belonged to a friend he saw the keys on his son's bedside table. He thought of saying something, saw the stubborn tilt of Kurt's chin, and thought better of it.

If he asked he'd only get lies in return.

He employed the same reasoning when Kurt started going out some nights and not coming back until morning. It was almost as if his son wasn't living at home anymore, they saw that little of each other. The routine lasted for months, then all of a sudden Kurt's stays extended to weekdays. And then one day, out of the blue, he just didn't come home.

Burt tried calling Kurt's phone but it just rang out to voicemail. He hung up. He didn't think Kurt would call him even if he asked him to. Instead Burt waited until the next day, a Wednesday, and called McKinley High. When he found out that Kurt had indeed shown up to school that day he let out a small sigh and told the receptionist that no, he didn't want to leave a message.

Kurt was fine, he thought to himself. And Kurt wanted nothing to do with him.

He was in the middle of mulling over that very depressing thought when he met Carole Hudson for the first time over the hood of her second hand Toyota. Carole was sweet, and funny, and bold. Kate would have liked her, he thought. He liked her. And over the next couple of weeks they decided that life was too short not to pursue a mutual liking. A month later she and her son had moved in with him, into the big, empty house that held so many memories and only one Hummel.

"Kurt doesn't live here?" Carole's boy asked, the first time he came over to look at the house.

"You know Kurt?" Burt asked hopefully.

"Yeah... he's in the Glee club, same as me," Finn replied, frowning. "He's your son, right? I mean... I hope I didn't get that wrong. I just figured that you've got the same name and you kind of look alike, so..."

"He's my son," Burt confirmed. "He doesn't live here anymore."

"Oh." Finn's frown deepened but he didn't ask any more questions. Burt was glad. He'd already gone over that conversation with Carole, and he didn't have any more answers now than he had then. All he knew was that Kurt was alive and well, living away from home, and never contacted him.

A few days later he was helping Finn box up the last of what Kurt had left behind. He closed the lid to a box with a sparkly feather boa sitting on top of several scarfs and a mix of CDs and looked across the room to where Finn was stacking books into another box, looking at each one and reading the title as he went.

"Think you could let Kurt know," Burt asked, "that he can come and pick these up any time he wants to?"

Finn nodded. He understood the unspoken implication by now, that Kurt wouldn't want to hear from his father. It was better that the message come from someone he didn't have any problems with. Someone he actually spoke to willingly.

Finn came back with the message that Kurt lived in Cedar Crest, and that he'd be by to pick up his stuff tomorrow.

Burt was nervous when he opened the door, but Kurt just looked as cool as ever in green and black, a politely blank expression on his face. Burt thought that he'd never felt more depressed in his life, but found himself revising that opinion when Finn came back after helping Kurt with the boxes only to report that Burt's son had a boyfriend called Noah. Who, from the look of the house, he was probably living with.

Kurt had never even officially told his father that he liked boys. He had just moved out with one.

Burt threw himself into his work and spent all of his time at home occupied with Carole and Finn. He tried to forget about his nonexistent relationship with Kurt, forged new happy memories and asked Carole to marry him. He went to all of Finn's school games, gave him a job at the shop, and taught him about cars the way he'd always wanted to teach Kurt.

Once upon a time cars had been the only thing they had really had in common. Now they had nothing, and it hurt to look at the old photo albums.


	7. Oneshot, A Professional

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.  
**Author Notes**: I'm sure at least half the people who read this will want to kill me for busting the bubble... This is set roughly a year and a half after Sugar Daddy, and is intended as a stand-alone piece. It is not the beginning of a sequel. Thankyou to NomminsPlz for making me want to write this.

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Kurt turned eighteen just a few short months after graduating highschool. He'd spent the past two summers interning at Verve, so it wasn't at all outwardly unusual when he instantly got himself a part time job with the magazine. Noah had given him a kickstart to a promising modeling career, though Kurt still maintained that his passion was performance. The modeling, the part time office job, was just a stepping stone in the middle. It was only now, after two and a half years of being romantically involved, that Kurt had been brought into the public light as Noah Puckerman's new love interest.

"It's instant publicity," Noah had murmured into his ear, and pressed a kiss to his earlobe. "Your name all over the tabloids, your face in the celebrity magazines."

Kurt, still a little airsick from the flight from Lima to New York, had sighed. "Nothing sells like scandal," he agreed dryly. "They'll still be calling me your rent boy."

"You make a beautiful rent boy."

It was Kurt's age that sparked the scandal, which he frankly thought was a little ridiculous. He was eighteen, which made him legal enough (though still not able to drink alcohol), and as far as anyone knew he and Noah had only just started dating. But somehow the eleven year age gap was an even bigger deal than the fact that Kurt Hummel was a _male_ model. Men in the fashion industry were expected to be gay, after all. They weren't expected to date barely-legal boys. Or to take them to charity galas in stretch limousines. How daring, to openly entertain a same-sex partner where the paparazzi lurked behind every second potted plant.

That was where they were now. A charity event intended to raise money for a not for profit agency that helped abused women and children.

Kurt was dressed to stand out in a lavender suit and purple tie, radiant on the arm of the impeccably dressed Mr. Puckerman, nothing but charming and witty and the perfect arm candy. He drank club soda instead of champagne, laughed politely at other people's bad jokes, and allowed himself to be introduced to the wealthy and charitable socialites that Noah already knew by name. He played the part as well as he knew how and eventually found himself being introduced to a very successful producer.

"I hope you don't mind if I steal him away," Henry Rice, Broadway producer, said to Noah, "but I'd like to get to know this mysterious young man a little better."

"Only if you're considering him for a role," Noah replied smoothly. He brushed Kurt's shoulder with a hand and smiled at him. "I'll be over there in the corner beating people off with sticks. Don't talk too long, or I might think you're considering trading up."

Kurt smiled and let himself be led off to a table. Somehow the next drink that wound up in his hand was white wine. "I'll have you know that Broadway is one of my passions," Kurt told Rice, smiling demurely. "I try to see as many shows as I can. I've always dreamed of being up there on the stage myself."

"I take it that means you sing. You have an unusual voice. What's your range? Tenor?"

"Countertenor," Kurt replied. "I'm told," he added, remembering several performances from his old glee club, "I have an impressive range."

"I'm sure you do."

"Perhaps I could sing for you sometime? You could hear my range for yourself." It was an aggressive move, but Kurt had learned that aggressive was the way things were done. If you were meek you didn't get your way. Besides, Noah liked aggressive. Otherwise Kurt wouldn't still be around.

Rice looked momentarily surprised, then chuckled. "Of course. Or course, I'd like that. Here, I'll give you my card."

"When should I call you?" Kurt pressed, the small white rectangle with Rice's business number tucked into a pocket.

"Call me on Monday," Rice replied. "And we'll arrange a get together over lunch."

Kurt moved on when the conversation dwindled, knowing when it was better to bow out than risk Rice getting bored with him. He excused himself and left the table to look for his boyfriend, starting with the corners and moving outwards. He found Noah at a table by the stage, chatting to a dark-skinned young woman in a stunning emerald dress. A model, Kurt assessed her silently before he approached, or one of the silver spoon crowd. There was no other way she could afford that one-off designer dress and feel confident enough to pull off the thigh-high slit in the skirt. Kurt's eyebrow arched a little, his eye drawn to the olive-skinned hand that rested casually on top of that flash of exposed thigh, thumb gently rubbing circles against the girl's skin.

Kurt forced his face into a pleasant smile and swept up to the table. "Noah, honey, I thought I'd lost you."

"Kurt," Noah replied, removing his hand from the woman's thigh without a hint of embarrassment at being caught. "This is Christmas Green, the new face of Jane Iredale. Christmas, this is the lovely Kurt Hummel."

Model then. Kurt nodded, and bit back the comments he desperately wanted to make based on the girl's name. (_Green? Not a white Christmas then? That was too terribly racist Kurt_, he thought to himself, _you're a bad boy tonight_.) "Very pleased to meet you. Noah, it's getting late... and we both have to work in the morning."

"So we do," Noah agreed, checking his wrist watch. He smiled at the dark and bewitching Christmas. "Another time, another day. A pleasure to meet you."

Kurt waited until they were safely seated in the back of their silver service taxi before he dropped the pleasant smile and gave his boyfriend a hard look. "If you're going to flirt," he said pointedly, "and don't you dare tell me you weren't, at least have the decency to do it when I can't walk in on you."

"I had no fucking idea you were so precious about who I flirt with."

"Noah, please. You do two different kinds of flirting. One," Kurt held up a finger, "I am perfectly fine with, because it's just you being charming. But then there's the flirting you do when you want to fuck someone, and -"

"Oh for," Noah cut him off, rolling his eyes. "You're the only one I fuck, Kurt. So don't you go getting fucking jealous over a little innocent flirting."

"You had your hand on her thigh!"

"And when I have my hand on her pussy maybe you can complain about it."

"Charming," Kurt sneered. He crossed his arms and turned to look out the window. The rest of the cab ride was silent, both men staring out opposite windows. When the taxi pulled to a stop outside their apartment building Kurt got out without a word and left Noah to pay the driver. He was already waiting at the elevator when Noah caught up to him.

"Baby..."

"No," Kurt said, and shrugged off the hand Noah had put on his shoulder and stepped into the elevator. "I'm mad at you."

Noah followed him in and pressed the button for the top floor. "Kurt," he tried again, this time sliding his hands along either side of the younger man's waist. Kurt batted his hands away but Noah was persistent, and managed to get his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Baby, you're my only one."

"Noah, please."

"You're the only one I care about," Noah stated, and leaned forward to catch Kurt's plush, cherry-flavoured lips in a kiss. "You're the only one who matters to me. Anyone else, I don't fucking give a damn. You? I love you, baby." Several soft kisses later and Kurt was leaning against his chest in the circle of his arms when the elevator doors opened again. Noah led the younger man into their penthouse apartment and took off Kurt's suit jacket. "Lets go to bed," he suggested, "and I'll take you out to dinner after work tomorrow, Ok?"

"I'm still mad at you," Kurt replied softly, but kissed him anyway.

He called Henry Rice on Monday as soon as he got in to work and was met with an easily accommodated suggestion of a one o'clock lunch meeting at his office. Kurt checked the distances and confirmed that he'd be there, then hung up and settled into a morning of routine. He left for lunch at quarter to one, knowing that nobody would bother getting annoyed with him for leaving early, and was at Henry Rice's office with two minutes to spare. The atmosphere seemed different with just the two of them alone, and Kurt found himself using very single piece of diplomacy and tact that he possessed to remain playful without giving any indication that he was amenable to casting couch antics.

He sang for Rice, belted out his best number right there in the office and even with the awful acoustics he could tell the older man was impressed.

He declined the invitation to go to dinner. "Noah's taking me out this evening," Kurt explained.

"Coffee then," Rice offered. "Tomorrow, my treat."

"Mr. Rice... Thankyou, but I think it's best if we keep our relationship professional." Kurt was tempted to wince the very second that left his mouth. It sounded insulting, or so he thought. It certainly hadnt' come out the way he'd intended it to.

"Alright," Rice said. "Professional like your relationship with Puckerman?"

Kurt blinked. "I beg your pardon."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Yes," Kurt said shortly, standing up. "Unfortunately, I do. I think we're done here, Mr. Rice." He turned on his heel and started out of the office. "I only have room for one sugar daddy," he added on his way out the door.

He quietly fumed over the audacity of the suggestion all the way back to Verve, where he clocked in again and set to work fussing about with clothing racks. It might not have bothered him so much if it hadn't had a seed of truth. Noah provided for Kurt financially and kept him in designer wear and musicals. Kurt's house in Lima was paid for by Noah's money, his car had been a gift, even his job was thanks to Noah's influence. Kurt was a kept boy, and it pissed him off that people knew it.

It pissed him off because he knew damn well that Noah fooled around with other people when he was at home in Lima. Maybe he didn't sleep with them, but that was besides the point. In order to keep a happy, healthy relationship Kurt had to ignore it when, not all the time but just every so often, Noah would have the urge to be a little promiscuous.


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